Melisande of Conté
by SorchaKitty
Summary: She grew up away from Court, surrounded by people she loved. All she ever wanted from life was to become a Shang warrior. But fate had something much bigger in store for her. HIATUS
1. For Love

A/N: This if my first fic, so please be gentle. I won't ignore flames, just don't be brutal. I'm fragile. ;; And I'm writing in first person, something I'm new too, so cut me some slack. If I still suck in a few chapters, let me know. I write novel-style, so it's long and descriptive. If all you want is action, smut and dialogue, I am not for you. There will be action, dialogue and hell even smut, but the extended version. And I'll be switching the view-point from person to person. Mostly Melisande, but also a few other main characters. Chapter 3 will be all from her dad's perspective. Review, please, I'd like to hear opinions on my writing from people who aren't my friends and obligated to be nice!

–Kitten of Evil

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My father married for love, breaking the rules of society, class and protocol for the sake of his heart. The third and last son of King Roald and Queen Shinkokami, by the time he was old enough to marry his brothers already had children and heirs of their own, putting my father virtually at the end of the line of succession. His eldest brother, my Uncle Jonathan, was the Crown Prince. The second brother, Uncle Connor, became the Duke of Conté, taking over the estate our family has held since before Tortal was a country. And there were my aunts, Helena and Sophie, who married into the Royal families of other countries; Aunt Helena to the Crown Prince of Galla, and Aunt Sophie to Khurda, grandson of Emperor Khaddar of Carthak, second in line for the Carthaki throne. My father, the youngest, was left with only his title, the royal blood in his veins, and a small manse on the edge of Conté. He was forced to make a name for himself, carving out a place for himself in the world with nothing but his skill and wit. And he flourished, first in his years as a page in the Palace, and then as squire to the Commander of the King's Own. By twenty-five, he was the Commander of the Second Company of the King's Own, and courting my mother, Nicola Salmalin.

Children of smaller, weaker families with less nobility than my smallest finger, ridiculed me for being born to a common mother with a royal father. The common children envied me, and the noble children looked down on me. But I was happy. My parents loved each other, and raised me well. I was so proud of them, living their dream and spitting in the face of the world that condemned them for it. It was that pride that let me keep my head high against the whispers of the other children, and at times, adults I met in my annual visits to Corus.

Of what my grandfather Roald thought of my father's choice, I never knew. They were cordial enough with one another, but there was a distance that I noticed, even as a toddler. Whatever it was, Grandfather did not hold it against me. On my visits to Corus, the first place we visited was the Palace, to meet our Royal family. And each time, the first thing I did upon seeing my grandfather was to crawl into his lap, wrap my arms around his neck, and demand a story of his adventures when he was young, or one of his parents, King Jonathon and Queen Thayet. Every time, without fail, he would laugh and return my embrace, and then proceed to tell me the stories I loved and knew by heart. Grandfather was never too busy for me, no matter what time of the year we came, no matter the importance of his business, he always took the time to tell me a story, even if it was only a short recollection of some small event of his childhood. I daresay I was his favorite, even though I only saw him a few times every year. For I, out of all of his children and grandchildren, looked the most like his mother, my great-grandmother, Queen Thayet.

I have never been a vain person; I was not raised to see myself thus. But I was not stupid enough, nor blind enough to ignore the comments and opinions of the people around me. I heard their whispered comments, and I recognized the admiring glint in their eyes. So I knew I was beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful woman to ever wear a crown of royalty. I had inherited Thayet's porcelain-like complexion and the soft texture of her skin. The nose she inherited from her father kept her own beauty human, down to earth. That nose, passed on to her own children and Aunt Sophie and Uncle Jonathan, was not passed on to my father nor myself. Instead I had the smaller, smoother Yamani nose from my Grandmother Shinko, setting my face in a more delicate mold than Thayet's. My eyes, large and slightly slanted, were a deep twilight version of the Conté blue. My lips, I also inherited from Thayet, carved with diamond cutter's precision and set at a natural crimson hue. My hair was a mix of the many different bloodlines I carried. Blue-black from Conté, silken texture from Yamani, and wide, wavy curls from Veralidaine Sarrasri, my maternal grandmother.

Despite my best efforts to hide it, my body was well made, with long, graceful limbs, shapely hips, and full, firm breasts. The shape I credit to Thayet, for both Veralidaine and Shinkokami were rather modestly accommodated in that way. But unlike any of my grandmothers, I had height. It was the one physical thing that I could link to my mother's father, Numair Salmalin, the greatest mage in the Eastern Lands. My father himself was an inch over six feet tall, the average height for Conté men. But Numair was six and a half feet tall. His height passed to me through my mother. While she was three inches shorter than my father, when I reached my full height I was six feet even, eye to eye with my father and taller than many noblemen. It was just one more thing to add to the list of what set me apart from others not only as a child, but as an adult as well.

At play as a child, I was often mistaken for a boy, up until I entered puberty and my body began to curve into a woman's shape. My long, slender limbs and height made me the tallest of any of my playmates, and my hair was always cut short, never growing past my shoulders. This was at my own behest, despite my mother's dismay. If I had had my own way, it would've been close cropped to my skull, like a boy. I never enjoyed the docile, indoor activities girls my age played at. I spent my days running in the fields outside our manse in Conté, wrestling with my father's two great wolf hounds and trying to catch frogs in streams. The few friends I had that were my age were boys, just as rough and tumble as I. More often than not, I came home covered in dirt and muck, my short hair a tangled mess, my clothes ripped and torn and stained with all sorts of nameless filth.

If the matter had been up to my mother, I would have been locked indoors and stuffed into a dress befitting my status as the daughter of a prince. She was a commoner, and proud of it, but she had strong ideas of how each class should act, something she inherited from her mother. As the daughter of a noble, I should act like a proper young lady, learning the intricate niceties of court, the elegant dances, the dull history of law and art. But my father, having already ignored protocol by marrying a commoner, ignored it further by allowing me to grow up as I wished. He struck a bargain with my mother; I could run and wrestle and ruin my clothes all I wanted, but only after noon. The mornings belonged to my mother, for tutoring in the scholarly pursuits, etiquette, and learning to control my Gift. As much as I hated to waste so much of my day indoors, but I knew my mother would not cede further on the matter.

So was my childhood, remote and rustic, my world centered around a small, select group of people. Raenef, my father, Nicola, my mother, Miwako, my nursemaid, Adish and Namir, my Bazhir body guards, and Donovan, the Shang Gryphon, my personal master at arms, who taught me everything I know of the fighting arts. To this day, I cannot say whether my upbringing aided or hindered me in my adult life. If the things that set me so far apart from commoner and noble, the things that kept me from being labeled either one, better prepared me for the sudden, vicious twist of fate that struck the realm in the year of my thirteenth birthday. The twist of fate the pulled me from the end of the line of succession of the Tortallan crown and placed me at its forefront, making me the only child of the king, the first true Queen of Tortall.


	2. Raenef and Nicola

A/N: this chapter is short, but the next one will be longer, with dialogue and everything, oooooo aaaaaaah. My thanks to Elly W and antz for reviewing, it means a lot to me Enjoy!

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My mother was a great sorceress. Like her father, Numair Salmalin, she attended the Imperial University in Carthak, and there she completed her studies and became a black robe mage, one of only eight in the world. She accomplished this in her twenty-first year, young for a black robe but not the youngest. After she earned her black robe, she returned home to Tortall and found work as a mage working for King Roald. Along with her Gift, my mother had wild magic, a talent she got from her mother, Veralidaine Sarrasri. She wasn't as strong as her mother, but she could heal animals and put her will on great numbers at one time. Shape-shifting, however, perhaps my grandmother's most useful trait, was beyond her. But what wild magic could not give her, the Gift could. Grandfather Numair passed on spells to her that allowed her to take many shapes, from bird to wolf to horse. But she rarely used these spells, for they drained her and left her weak for days afterward if she remained in a shape for too long. All of these skills, she passed on to me. But I am getting ahead of myself. Before I speak of magic, I will speak of the mundane, and how my parents met and wed, against the wishes of society.

Mother was three years older than father. When she came to the palace at twenty-two, he was nineteen, and had just earned his shield as a knight less than a year before. He found a place in the King's Own, often far from the palace, but nonetheless they saw each other often. She was a warrior mage, and often called to councils where she met with the generals and commanders of my grandfather's armies. Even though he was technically only a lieutenant, my father was often at these meetings, because it was an accepted fact that he would one day be a general for his brother, the future king. My father was a military prodigy, with a mind for tactics and strategy and the skill to match a Shang fighter. But he was still the third son, landless with no real inheritance.

Third son or not, my father was sought after by many a noble matriarch as a match for one of their daughters or granddaughters. Royal blood aside, my father was a very handsome man. He had the Conté blue eyes and coal black hair, but his eyes were slanted and his hair had a silken texture to it, both traits he got from his mother, Shinkokami. His skin was fair, and he had less body and facial hair than was the norm for Tortallan men, a Yamani attribute. While his father and brothers all sported full beards, all my father could manage was a light, well trimmed goatee. I liked it better that way, and I told him so often, but I was biased. Like his father and brothers, Raenef was tall, an inch over six feet, with broad, strong shoulders, long, well proportioned limbs and a trim waist. He always wore his hair long, tied back in a braid or horsetail.

He was a wonderful dancer, but few knew it, because he was also incredibly shy. He always laughed when he spoke of it to me, saying it was a wonder that he got married at all. Charismatic and quick-witted around his troops, around women his tongue became lead in his mouth and his wits melted away into molasses. It was a long standing joke in the Second Company of the King's Own, my father's bumbling in the presence of women. But he overcame his weakness through sheer determination, all for my mother.

They did not properly meet for another two years after my mother's arrival at the palace. They had been introduced and exchanged greetings, but the opportunity to have a real conversation did not present itself until my father's twenty-first birthday celebration. The guest of honor, he was unwillingly the center of attention, a much sought after dance partner by many noble ladies or an ideal drinking partner for young noblemen. Comfortable in only small groups of people he was familiar with, Raenef was miserable. He was at the ideal marrying age and the iron-handed noble matriarchs were very unsubtle in their advances upon him to introduce the young prince to a young granddaughter or niece. Overwhelmed, he took the first chance he saw to escape, ducking behind curtains and making his way out to the Palace gardens by jumping over the railing of a balcony.

That was where he met my mother. Uninterested in the social affairs but too polite to refuse the king's invitation, Nicola had excused herself soon after dinner under the pretense of taking a walk in the garden. She ended up sitting on the garden wall, staring up at a clear night sky, skirts hiked up and legs splayed in a most unladylike way. What transpired there, I shall leave to my father's telling.


	3. In The Garden

Ducking behind a high hedge line, I sighed with relief. No one had seen me jump over the balcony rail, and I had managed to avoid dirtying my fine clothes in the process. No one would notice my absence for quite some time, not with my two charming brothers to take my place. Jonathon was wed and Connor promised to a Marenese princess, but that didn't keep the young noblewomen from flocking about them like a pack of gulls. But I insult them, saying that. The gulls make much less noise.

Wiping my perspiring palms on my breeches, I set off through the garden, determined to put as much space between myself and the party as possible without technically leaving it. It was my party, after all, and I wasn't about to anger my father by leaving it outright. The moon was nearly full and there was not a cloud in sight, leaving the stars fully in view for me to admire them. With the white light from the moon, there was no need for me to fetch a torch of conjure a light, so I walked on, whistling softly with my hands in my pockets.

My mother, Queen Shinkokami, had taken charge of my wardrobe personally for this particular event. While I would have preferred to simply wear my dress uniform from the Own, Mother had insisted on dressing me to fit my station as a Prince of Tortall. Third son or no. I wore fine black breeches tucked into calf-high black boots, polished mirror bright. A black silk shirt with full sleeves was under a velvet tunic of sapphire blue, the family color and the same shade as my eyes. The tunic was cut halfway down my thighs, the hems embroidered with fine black and silver silk thread. A black leather belt around my waist held the only weapon I was allowed at a party, my dagger of fine Yamani steel with a sapphire set in the pommel. My hair was combed back and tied in a neat horsetail, but through the course of the night shorter strands above my forehead had worked their way free to fall over my eyes.

I was close to the northern wall when I heard singing, and realized that I wasn't the only one who had escaped the party. There was a very high line of shrubs between me and the owner of the voice, so for a moment I simply stood and listened.

It was a woman, young but I could hardly guess her exact age from only her voice. She wasn't the best singer I had ever heard, but she had a pleasant voice, and the song she sang was soft, a country tune from the mountains of Galla, if I guessed right. It was a welcome change from the harsh clamor of the party I had just escaped. I stood there for a good ten minutes, listening to her sing, until finally I had the courage to walk around the bushes and introduce myself to her face to face.

Upon seeing the singing woman, it took me a long moment to realize that I already knew her. She wore a dress styled after the latest court fashion, with a low neckline, tight waist and a skirt that belled slightly around her legs. It was made of Yamani silk, silver with a bluish hue when the moonlight hit it just so. Over the dress was an open black mage's robe, pushed back so it was almost completely off her slender shoulders. Both the robe and dress were hiked up to reveal long, graceful legs and bare feet. When I looked around there were no uncomfortable dancing slippers in sight. She'd walked here barefoot, I realized with a small smile.

Her hair fell loose around her shoulders to the middle of her back, save for the silk ribbons of the same silk as her dress woven into her hair to keep it away from her face. Almost as black as my own, her hair wound itself into tight, crisp curls, bouncing when she moved her head to look at me. Her large eyes were a pleasant shade of blue-grey, surrounded by long black lashes, set under slender, slightly slanted brows. Her skin was naturally several shades darker than mine, smooth and unscarred. A full, sensitive mouth concealed straight, white teeth. Her mix of features made it hard to guess at where she could have come from, until I remembered her name.

Nicola Salmalin. One of my father's warrior mages, a black robe who'd returned from studying in Carthak only two years before. She was the daughter of Numair Salmalin, my father's chief mage, and Veralidaine Sarrasri, the Wild Mage. I'd met her at several meetings since she'd come to the palace, but we'd never really spoken. I'd seen her earlier, inside, looking as uncomfortable as I felt at being around so many people and surrounded by noise.

All of this entered my thoughts and left as quickly as it had came, leaving my mind a blank slate. Sitting in the moonlight, her skirts awry and her feet bare, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life.

When she saw me, Nicola stopped singing, her cheeks flushing slightly to be discovered with her clothes in such disarray and all of her court etiquette thrown to the winds. But the flush faded quickly, and she gave me a warm, shy smile, her voice rich and velvety. "Good eve, my lord. I apologize for my lack of manners; I'd not thought to be discovered so far from the party."

Somehow I managed to find my voice and spoke without fumbling. "Please, don't move on my account. I didn't come here to interrupt your peace, just to escape and save my sanity."

She laughed, a clear, bell-like sound, and patted the stone next to her. "Would you care to join me, Prince Raenef? 'Tis a lovely view of the garden from here."

I moved closer to the wall, looking up at her with raised brows. The wall was at least ten feet tall, and I saw no rocks or benches she could have used as steps so she could grab the top and pull herself up. "How did you get up there?"

The shy smile broke into a lovely grin. Holding up a graceful, long fingered hand, she twiddled her fingers, a gesture to indicate magic. "I cheated."

I laughed, for the first time that night, and followed her example. Reaching for my Gift, I magically lifted myself up to sit besides her on the wall, my legs swinging over the side. "How long have you been out here?"

"Since the dancing began after the banquet. I knew I couldn't stay when Padriac of Golden Lake came after me for a dance." She chuckled. "He's a nice man, but much too drunk for my tastes."

I nodded. Padriac was a good friend of mine, a commander in the First Unit of the King's Own. He had a bad habit of drinking too much in too short a span of time, and it made him rather volatile. "You don't like dancing?"

Nicola shrugged. "I like it well enough, but it's hard to be comfortable around so many nobles who think they're too good to wipe their own noses." Looking at me, she blushed, remembering that I was about as noble as one could get. "Begging your pardon, my lord."

I waved a hand dismissively. "Don't bother, really. I understand what you mean. But we're not all like that, you know."

"I do." She winked at me. "But the decent ones have the brains to stay home and avoid the chicken coop."

"I suppose you're right." I smiled. "If I could, I would have been one of them tonight. I don't do so well at parties like this."

"Perfectly understandable. I saw how those old vultures were after you. They're merciless, aren't they?"

"By the Goddess, yes." I sighed, wiping a hand over my eyes tiredly. "I'm just a prized stud to pair with their best breeding mares. They don't care about my deeds, just my blood. For all they know, I could be a horrendous drunkard who beats his women and squanders his family's gold."

Nicola smiled at me and the warmth I say in her blue-grey eyes made my heart quicken in my chest. "But you're not."

I felt my cheeks heat and flush, and I quickly changed the subject. Glancing at her feet, I smiled. "What happened to your shoes?"

"Have you ever worn women's slippers?" I shook my head and she pulled a face. "They are one of man's cruelest inventions, made for the sole purpose of torturing women with the pretense of fashion."

When I laughed she gave me a good-natured scowl, and I held up my hands in surrender. "I believe you, truly. My sisters often told me of the crimes of fashion when they attended balls and I was their escort."

She smiled, wriggling her toes happily. "I never wore them until I came to Corus. Sandals are perfectly acceptable as fine footwear in Carthak, and gods are they comfortable. Sometimes I could even go barefoot."

"Like going from a goose down mattress to a straw pallet?"

"Exactly."

"What was Carthak like?"

"Hot." She laughed, making my heart flutter. "Even when they told me it was winter I had to check my calendar. And everything was always green and golden."

"Were you homesick?"

"Constantly." Her smile faded, but didn't disappear. "I have friends everywhere I go, thanks to my wild magic, but I missed my parents dearly. Mama and Papa visited me twice a year, but it was still hard." She shrugged. "It was the path I chose, and I don't regret it. And I made friends, mostly other students but a few of the natives. And I met your sister."

"Sophie?"

Nicola nodded. "She was just as lonely as I was when she married Khurda and moved into the Imperial Palace. Even though I was only twelve and she was eighteen, she sought me out as a friend. We still write letters, and I've been back to visit once, and I plan to go again this spring."

Sophie had mentioned it in her letters to me, befriending a Tortallan girl studying at the university as a mage. It had helped her through the first lonely year when she knew few people besides her servants and Carthak was alien and unfamiliar to her.

"I remember. Having you there meant a lot to her. For my sister's sake, I thank you." I knew I sounded pompous and lordly, but I meant it. Of my four siblings, I'd been closest to Sophie. She was the middle child, between Connor and Helena. Being married off into the imperial family of Carthak had been hard for Sophie, but she saw it as her duty to her kingdom. Something I still have trouble understanding, but I have always respected her for it. And by the grace of the Goddess, she grew to love her husband and her new home.

She smiled, wordlessly accepting my thanks, and we sat in companionable silence, watching the stars and listening to the faint music from the party. I mused over my own peculiar behavior. I could count on one hand the times in my life in which I'd been alone with a woman. And every time my nerves had gotten the better of me and I had fled, leaving only a lame excuse and kicking myself for it. Now I sat with Nicola, alone, perfectly comfortable, my heart beating with a kind of excitement totally new to me. I went over our entire conversation several times in my head, and smiled, resting my chin in my palm as I looked at her.

"This might seem pert, but I have a good deal of leave saved up with the Own." She raised her elegant brows in curiosity. "If you go to Carthak next spring, would you mind if I came with you? I haven't seen my sister since she married Khurda, and I'd really like to see Carthak."

Large grey-blue eyes blinked in surprise; that was one of the last things she'd expected. "Forgive me for asking, my lord, but why do you wish to go with me? You're a grown man, you've traveled before."

I smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck. "I've only traveled to places in Tortall, never to another country. You lived in Carthak for ten years; you know the city and all the places worth seeing. If I went by myself I'd end up with some palace noble as a guide and be bored senseless."

That made her grin. "Alright, I see your point. And I can't say I blame you. Traveling abroad for the first time can be frightening." She held a slender hand out to me, merchant style, as if we were sealing a bargain. "I'd be happy to show you Carthak. But I warn you now; I know quite a few places that are unsuitable for a young prince of your breeding and an educated woman like myself. If you want to see all of Carthak, you'll have to visit some of them."

I laughed, hoping down off the wall on a whim. "Mistress Salmalin, good breeding or no, I've been to my fair share of shady places, quite a few of them right here in Corus. Somehow I think I can handle myself."

"You're very sure of yourself."

"Of course I am, it's the Conté blood. We're an arrogant lot." I gave her my most winning smile, and offered her a hand. "Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Mistress Salmalin?"

She thought on it for a brief moment, and then I was rewarded with a musical laugh. She pushed herself off the wall, allowing me to catch her and set her down. Placing one hand in my own and the other on my shoulder, she grinned up at me. "I would love to dance with you, Prince Raenef."

And we danced.


	4. The Yamani

Chapter 4! Wheeee! Thank you, Erm, for the wonderful review! It made my day!!!!

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Most of my childhood was spent in our manor on a small plot of land in Conté. We traveled often to Port Legann, where my father's Second Company was stationed in peace times. If not in Conté or Legann, then Corus, or even the Yamani Isles for a holiday. It was an enduring source of amusement for my parents that we actually spent more time in the Yamani Isles than we did in Corus with my father's family. Yamani was my milk-tongue, passed on to me by my father from his Yamani mother, Queen Shinkokami. I spoke the language of the isles for a good two years before I learned Common. My mother, a commoner with a better education than many nobles, spoke it fluently. It was like our own secret code; we could speak it in front of almost anyone with none the wiser to the meaning of what we said.

As a child I delighted in such a secret power, often using it to further my own means. I was never a spoiled brat, but I was far from perfect, and had my fair share of tantrums. At such times, I would refuse to speak or listen to anything but Yamani. My nursemaids, Tortallan born and raised, would plead and cajole, but to no effect, eventually tearing at their hair in frustration and calling for my father, the end that I desired. This method worked for many years, but I used it as sparingly as a young girl could manage, for even my gentle father had a limit to his patience. The year I turned seven, however, my Tortallan nursemaid, Agatha, left to start a family of her own, leaving my parents with a recommendation that they should search for a woman who spoke both Common and Yamani and would thus be better equipped to handle my rare but powerful tantrums.

Much to my dismay, my parents followed her advice, and wrote a letter to my father's cousin, the Yamani Emperor, asking for his assistance in finding a woman who fit their criteria. A commoner, preferably from the country. A delicate flower of the Yamani court would be ill-suited to life in our remote manse. Proficient in speaking and writing Common as well as Yamani characters, and well-versed in the arts of self-defense. I dare say there were not many who fit those requirements, especially in the Yamani Isles where women were rarely educated if they had the fortune to be born into the lower class. But the Emperor found one, and in far less time than we had anticipated.

Her name was Miwako, and she came with a shining recommendation from a lord on the southernmost isle of the country, Yonshuu. Five years past twenty, she was a short, sturdily built woman with beautiful brown eyes and a soft, kind voice. A scar marred the prettiness of her face, a long gash traveling from the corner of her lip, across the bridge of her nose and through the straight black line of her left eyebrow, ending just beyond her hairline. It curled the right corner of her lip eternally upwards in a humorless smirk. At times it was as if she was keeping a secret and it brought her great amusement.

When I grew old enough for darker thoughts and tales, she confided in me that the scar was not a memento of a pirate rid, the conclusion my young mind had drawn with its limited knowledge and romantic imagination. Pirate raids were all too common in the Yamani Isles, and Miwako had learned to fight them at a young age, but the blade that had marked her had been a mere farmer's scythe. Long, curving blades with short handles were used to cut handfuls of rice in one easy swing, a tool most common born Yamanis learned to use at a very young age. Miwako was no exception, spending much of her childhood out in her family's fields, stooped over and swinging her blade in a steady rhythm as the sun beat down on her back. One such day, when she was sixteen, her brother had been in the next row, swinging and hacking with a good deal of impatience. As she stood up straight to stretch and dip her cup into the water bucket, his swing had gone wide. Short as she was, Miwako's face had been right in the path of the swing. As her blood turned the rice field's water red and her screams brought her kin from nearby rows, Tatsuya, her brother, somehow managed to twist the story around so it became Miwako's fault. He claimed she had been standing too close, pestering him as women are known to do. Her family had believed him. With such a scar, no man in his right mind would look twice at her, much less marry her, or so they said.

For a Yamani girl of common blood, there were few options for her to choose from, so she left. Making her way to the coast with only a small bundle of her meager possessions, she went to Inabama Castle, the closest thing there was to a city on her small island. It was where the lord of the island lived with his family and servants, a port as well as a castle. Set on a hill with a sizable village laid out beneath it, Inabama Castle was the only real port on the island. From there, rice was shipped out and other goods shipped in. There, Miwako found peace in anonymity, finding work as a laundress for the castle's small militia. And that is how the Emperor found her, quiet and content, learning Common from the Castle scribe, survivor of countless pirate raids. A flawed woman with no name or family.

I wept as she told me her story, tears shining in her beautiful brown eyes. Her voice, always so musical and even, broke and wavered when she spoke of her family's abandonment. I wrapped my arms hard about her, trying to stem the flow of my tears. In all my years, and through all the great words I have heard, I have never forgotten the words she spoke to me that day.

"Do not cry for me, jochan, I do not regret the past." Jochan, a Yamani term of endearment. Precious one. "You are my family now. Even if we do not share a bond of blood, we share a bond of heart. That, my love, is ten fold stronger than anything blood can forge. That, I did not have with my family. But I have it with you."

I have held those words close to my heart through the trials and journeys of my life. I had few friends as a child, and the majority of them were adults in my father's employ. Out of all of them, I was closest to Miwako, who was the sister I never had. And I made a vow, with all the solemnity and self-righteousness of a ten-year-old girl, to never abandon her, come hell or high water. To this day, I have never broken that promise.


	5. The Shang

Wow. I finished it. Did hell freeze over?

First of all, I would like to apologize to you all for taking so damn long. I said it'd be a week and it's been months. Life has been hectic and I've had just about the worse case of writer's block known to man. But today I sat down and just spat it out. And it's my longest chapter yet! Hopefully that'll be the last block I'll see for awhile. I got a lot of nice reviews, and they made me very happy. You're all wonderful So wonderful that I'll write out each one, hehe.

Leney – Thanks! Lol I try to be descriptive as possible so that the people reading it will see everything as well as I do.

Tian-Tian – I love you, Mariam

Tribestar5 – Thanks for the great compliment I love compliments, especially about my writing. They're the best feeling in the world. I hope I can continue to keep you interested.

youdontneedtoknow - Yeah R is high, at least for now. I didn't really want to write anything nasty or horrible when she's still a kid, and I'm just setting up her life right now. But action and gore will come soon… and perhaps sex, if I'm brave enough to actually post what I write on here, lol.

Keladry of Mindelan – XD Thanks for the review, it encouraged the heck outta me.

Spordelia Chase – Thanks, Mol. You're a star Everyone else, this is my little sister. She writes Harry Potter stuff. She's not as good as me, heh, but she has promise. Go read!

Now for the story!

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In the spring of my fourth year, my father brought home a guest to our town house in Port Legann. Young as I was, I can still remember everything about that day with crystal clarity. It was a beautiful day, warm with a slight breeze and a few fluffy white clouds in the sky. Mother and I were in the garden, pulling weeds from her neat rows of herbs. I wore a plain blue dress and white apron, my mother a similar dress of rose pink, her apron decorated with fine flowering embroidery. Her thick mass of tight curls was bound back from her face in a tight braid, my finer waving hair parted into a girl's twin braids. Birds gathered around us in the trees and along the walls, their voices blending pleasantly with the melody my mother sang.

Mother kept a garden in Legann as well as Conté, using the plants she grew as ingredients for the wizard's mixes she brewed. I was with her everyday, pulling weeds and picking off harmful insects as she taught me the names of the plants and their uses. It was part of my education, and as I grew older we began mixing powders and brewing potions, a cornerstone of sorcery. But then I was still too young for anything more than learning the names of the plants and memorizing their properties.

I heard my dogs barking in the courtyard, waves of the ecstatic joy only dogs seem capable of rolling over me through my wild magic as it did every time my father came home. Leaping up, I ran barefoot out of the garden, through the kitchen and out into the courtyard to throw myself into my father's open arms. He swung me around, a wide grin on his face, the dogs barking with almost hysterical excitement. It was like that every day, and I never tired of it. But today was different. Instead of swinging me up on his shoulders and going to the garden to greet my mother, Father set me down and turned towards a man I hadn't noticed until then. I recognized him, vaguely, from my visits to the barracks of Second Company. He'd always been off to the side with one of the commanders, watching the men spar.

"Donovan, this is my daughter, Melisande." I curtsied as my mother had taught me, unwavering but uncomfortable under the stranger's intense gaze. "Melly, this man is a new friend of mine, Donovan Steelwind, the Gryphon of Shang."

I rose from my curtsy, looking up at him with eyes the size of tea saucers. Many a night my father had put me to bed with tales of the courageous Shang, roaming warriors who lived by a code of honor and had no need for weapons. Once initiated, a fighter would choose a name of an animal that they admired or resembled in their style of fighting. The Shang named after immortals were the best. Gryphon was second only to Dragon.

Donovan was tall and slender; his long arms and legs giving the illusion of an even greater height than his 6'4". He wore simple black breeches and a black leather vest over a white shirt. His black boots and riding gloves had seen many years of hard use, but were well maintained and still in good condition. His eyes were the same coal black as his thick, elbow length braid. His swarthy complexion had been darkened even further by years of exposure to the sun, and small crow's feet appeared at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. He couldn't have been past 30, but his dark gaze held the wisdom of men twice his age. He was intimidating, but I wasn't afraid of him. In a way, he reminded me of my father. They were both destined to be great men.

He bent his knees and sank into a comfortable crouch, bringing himself eye level with me. His dark face softened as his mouth stretched into a warm, genuine smile, showing two rows of straight white teeth. "Hello, Melisande. It's nice to meet you. Has anyone ever told you that you have an excellent sense of balance?"

"Balance?" I grinned, jumping back a few steps. "You mean like this?"

I started turning cartwheels right there in the courtyard, a trick I had learned from Agatha only three weeks earlier. I had mastered it easily, and I had come close to driving my mother mad more than once by cart wheeling through the house and garden. Only recently had I got the hang of finishing one cart wheel and going right into another without falling on my face. I completed a full circled around my father and Donovan, skipping out of my last cart wheel to grin breathlessly up at them. My father was practically glowing with pride and love, and Donovan's dark face was lit by a gentle smile. Then, to my great surprise and my father's amusement, Donovan took a big step and turned a pair of cartwheels as if he were still a child at play.

"Yes." He said, walking back over to us and kneeling next to me once more. "Balance. You're a very smart young lady."

I grinned at him, already deciding that I liked this strange new man. Mother came out, and introductions were made again. Donovan bowed and kissed her hand as smoothly as a seasoned court noble, treating my mother with the respect she was due as the wife of royalty, but was so often denied. She curtsied daintily, inviting him to join us for dinner in the house. He accepted of course, and Mother led us inside.

Mother left us in the parlor to go to the kitchen and help prepare dinner. My father poured a glass of wine for himself and Donovan, and I was given a cup of fruit juice. As they sat down in chairs, I sprawled out on the carpet with our big rat catcher, Momo. I ignored their conversation, expecting it to turn towards boring adult affairs. I didn't realize that they were talking about me until my father pulled on my bare foot.

"Melly? Donovan was hoping to talk to you about something."

Sitting up in a tailor's seat, I pulled Momo into my lap and regarded them both with wide eyes. "About what?"

Donovan took over and addressed me himself. "Melisande, you know about Shang, right? If a fighter finds a child who shows enough promise, he takes the child with him to Shang, and trains it in our way."

"And they grow up to travel the world and become heroes!" I squeezed the cat to my chest in excitement, ignoring her yowl of protest.

"Sometimes. But half of it isn't nearly as glorious as bards would make it out to be." I ignored that, pushing it off as adult silliness.

He was losing my attention, and knew it, so he moved away from trying to enlighten me on the grim reality of life as Shang. Slipping out of his chair, he knelt on the floor next to me. "Melisande, what would you say if I offered to take you with me? If I told you that you could grow up to be a Shang fighter, like me?"

My eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. Momo escaped as my arms went slack, and I didn't try to recapture her. Me, Shang? I had many romantic dreams about my future, most of them inspired by the stories my father put me to bed with. Many times I had fantasized about fighting side-by-side with a legendary Shang warrior, but rarely did I dare to imagine myself as one of them. It had seemed too far fetched, too arrogant. But now one of their greatest was right in front of me, offering me the chance to live among heroes. To become a legend.

"I could be Shang? Like Bear or Falcon or Wolf?"

Donovan smiled at me and nodded. "Melisande, I have been watching you for a few weeks while I was training with your father's men. You show vast potential for the fighting arts. An excellent sense of balance, wonderful hand-eye coordination, and a born talent for the discipline required for our calling, even at such a young age."

"But Melly is Gifted."

My mother stood in the doorway, face pale, her expression set in stone. She walked to stand next to my father's chair, reaching out for his hand. She was trembling.

"It's true, most Shang fighters are not Gifted, and if they are it's almost always small, lighting fires and moving things." Donovan met my mother's anxious gaze with frank honesty, knowing that what he was proposing would separate mother and child. "I myself am Gifted. I have the Sight, passed on to me by my father. It's not strong enough that I need training, but I do get very strong feelings about important things and people, and if it's strong enough I have dreams."

"When I met Lord Raenef I had a very strong feeling that this was someone important, someone I must know for the future. And when I saw your Melly at the barracks of the Own, I began to have dreams." He ran a hand over his hair. "I believe Ganiel is telling me that she is to be my student... that it's imperative that I teach her."

My mother took this all with great composure, but I could see her knuckles were white from clinging to my father's hands and small tremors ran up her arms. My father saw it as well, and stood up, ushering her into his chair before she collapsed. It was times like these that I saw just how weak giving birth to me had made her. Immediately I got up and rushed across the room to climb into her lap and wrap my arm around her neck. As much as I wanted to go with Donovan, to become a hero, I knew I could not leave my mother.

"I can't leave Mama. She needs me." I looked at the Gryphon, tears in my eyes. "I'm sorry."

He was disappointed, I could tell, but he smiled at me nonetheless. "That's very brave of you, Melisande. It says a great deal about the kind of person you are, and will be. Not many children would give up a fairy tale for another's sake."

My mother's arms wrapped around me tightly and she kissed my brow, whispering to me in Yamani. "Sweet, you should not give this up for me. It's the chance of a life time. You'll regret it when he's gone."

"Mama, I don't wanna leave you. You'd be too sad. I'd be sad."

She hugged me tightly, running a quick finger under each eye to erase the threat of tears. I felt my father's big, callused hand running over my hair, and it cemented my decision. Even at four years old, I knew my family was more important than some romantic notion of becoming a legend. And I knew there were other ways for me to become a warrior. After all, I was noble born, the daughter of a Conté. When I turned ten, I could always travel to Corus and become a page and learn the skills of a knight.

It wasn't as glorious a notion as becoming a Shang fighter, but I bit my lip and didn't let myself dwell on it. I was young, and my life revolved around only one thing: my parents. My mind was too naïve and undeveloped to imagine life without them.

Cook came in after that, informing us that dinner was ready and waiting for us in the other room. Father picked me up from Mother's lap and sat me on his shoulders, following Cook out of the room to dinner. Unlike most noble families, we had a one course dinner, sharing the meal with our servants. Our staff was small, consisting only of Cook, who doubled as my mother's personal maid, Agatha, my nursemaid, and Adish and Namir, the young Bahzir twins my father had recently hired to serve as guards for my mother and me. Adish carried in an extra chair from the parlor for Donovan, setting it to the right of Father's chair. Mother said the blessing, and we all sat and began passing around the dishes.

Usually at dinner I was very talkative and energetic, often forgetting that there was food on my plate because I was too busy chattering. But that night I hardly said two words, and everyone noticed. Namir tried to draw me out of my shell of misery by juggling grapes and making silly jokes, but I just stared at my plate, pushing a piece of potato around with my fork. I tuned out the adult's conversation, eating even though I wasn't hungry. The minute I was done I pushed back my chair and asked to be excused, not waiting for an answer before running to my room.

Katla and Somerled, my father's two great Scanran wolfhounds, followed me upstairs. Ignoring my bed, I flopped down on the big rug, wrapping my arms around Katla's scruffy neck. Somerled lay down next to me, laying his big head in my lap. They knew I was sad, but couldn't understand why. Years with me and my mother had given them almost human intelligence, but animal sense didn't allow them to understand the intricacies of humanity. They didn't understand my dilemma, but that didn't stop them from comforting me in every way they knew how.

Giving birth to me had nearly killed my mother. She had survived only through the grace of her grandmother, the Green Lady, who'd broken the boundaries of her lands in the mountain just to watch over her granddaughter. With her divine intervention, the midwife had been able to save both me and my mother. But her health never really recovered. She was fragile, vulnerable to illnesses that only made her weaker. When I was old enough for my powerful Gift to begin manifesting itself, I'd prayed to the Mother Goddess for the power to heal, so one day I could cure my mother of all her ailments. The healing Gift was not uncommon in the Conté line, but my father was a warrior mage, as was my mother. To my crushing disappointment, so was I.

I fell asleep with the dogs on the floor, my head pillowed on Katla's neck, my body tucked securely between the two big hounds. They were as good as any blanket, lulling me into a deep, dreamless sleep with their steady breathing and warm bodies. I'd fallen asleep like that before, and Agatha or my mother always came in and moved me to my bed, but that night they let me be.

Nobody woke me up in the morning, letting me sleep in until noon. Normally I would've awoken on my own, much earlier, but the stress and tears of the night before had exhausted me. Warm tongues lapping at my face brought me fully awake and I giggled, pushing the two big hounds off of me so I could sit up. The sun cast light into my unlit room, accompanied by the cheerful chirping of sparrows in the tree outside my window.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and went out into the hallway, finding it silent and empty. Katla and Somerled followed me as I made my way downstairs, my feet bare and my hair mussed from sleep. I could hear Agatha down the hallway in the kitchen with Cook, sharing some bit of inane gossip by the excitement in their voices. Not wanting to be around people, I ran outside to the courtyard, hounds hot on my heels. They were excited to be outside, thinking it would cheer me up as it always did them. How could I stay glum when the sun was shining and there were squirrels to chase?

Their simple reasoning made me smile, but it wasn't in me to play with them just then. Maybe later, I told them, sitting down on the steps and casting a glance about the courtyard. When I'd first come out, I'd thought it empty, but a lone figure in black occupied the far corner. I felt my heart constrict and immediately turned to run back inside, but his voice stopped me.

"Good morning, Melisande. Would you care to join me?"

My mother had taught me to be polite, and my limited young mind couldn't think of any way to leave without being rude. So I swallowed heavily and crossed the courtyard to sit on the bench Donovan occupied.

He smiled at me and I immediately turned my gaze away, unable to face his kindness. His deep voice was light and conversational. "I trust you slept well?"

I nodded but said nothing, for I didn't have it in me to speak to him. His mere presence was a weight on my chest, a constant reminder of the dream I had given up for the sake of my mother. I wanted so badly to take back my decision, to become his student and one day be Shang. But the memory of my mother's tear-filled eyes loomed heavy in my mind, so I held my tongue.

Katla and Somerled had followed me across the yard, stopping a few feet away from the bench. They seemed to be debating on whether to growl at this strange new man or leap on him and give him a welcoming tongue bath. They could tell I was uncomfortable and upset in his presence, but I held no feelings of resentment or hostility towards him, so they were confused. Somerled inched forward to lay his big head on my leg. Katla soon followed, encouraged when I lifted my hand to scratch his ears out of habit. She allowed Donovan to do the same, and for a long while we sat there in complete silence, save the noise of the city beyond the walls.

His voice broke the silence, making me cringe. "I'm sorry, Melly. You were very brave, choosing as you did. Not many children would act so selflessly."

That broke me, and tears began to drip from my eyes on to Somerled's scruffy brow, my shoulders heaving in sobs I tried to muffle by pressing a fist to my mouth. To my surprise, Donovan reached out and put his arm around me in a gentle, comforting hug, and then put his hand under my chin to lift my eyes to his. In those black depths I saw nothing but compassion, not pity or disdain for my weakness. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he gave it to me so I could wipe my eyes, not even caring that I also rudely used it to blow my nose.

"Melisande," he began, his voice soft and thoughtful. "If you could stay with your mother and still learn to be Shang, would you want to do that?"

I stared at him as if he were offering me the treasury of Tortall, and dumbly nodded my head.

"I know you are important to my future, Melisande, the gods have told me so. I see great potential in you, and I hate to give it up." He took a deep sigh. "If you would agree to it, I would stay here, as your teacher. You could learn to be Shang."

Nothing could have prepared me for this. In all the stories I'd heard, the Shang were all said to be rootless adventurers. They prized their freedom, rarely staying in any one place for more that a year. That was part of the appeal to me: living on a whim and going wherever the mood struck you. It was the Shang mystique.

But here beside me was the greatest Shang alive, the Gryphon, offering to give up his freedom for me, a child, just so I could learn the Shang way.

"But you'd be trapped here!" I blurted out.

He smiled wryly and shook his head. "I have always been one of the less adventurous Shang. Traveling is nice, but many a time have I thought about how nice it would be to have a home, somewhere to belong. I know the idea of living so freely seems romantic to you, but in reality it is a very lonely way to live. It lost its appeal to me long ago.

"But we would not be trapped, I promise you. I know for a fact that your family travels often, so we would never be in one place for too long. And I'm sure when you're older we could travel on our own. It would be as unconventional an apprenticeship as the Shang had ever known, but I believe that it is worth it."

I threw my arms around him and hugged him with all the strength I had in my skinny little girl arms, crying tears of joy. We went inside to find my mother and father and tell them of this new arrangement, and both of them were delighted that their daughter could live her dream after all. To celebrate, Papa took us to the fields outside Legann to picnic, bringing the entire household as well. As I raced over the hills with Katla and Somerled at my heels, the adults toasted wine and my father officially hired Donovan as a member of his household, my master at arms.

There are no words for the joy I felt that day. I wanted to leap to the sky and shout my happiness to the gods themselves. My family was growing, and I was to be Shang. What more could a young girl want?

The richest of kings were poor compared to the treasures I was surrounded with.


	6. Only Human

Hi guys! I'm sorry for making you wait so long! That is, if any of you are still there, hehe. I did update chapter five last month but since I just replaced my author's not it didn't come up. Since then I've been struggling through this chapter. Parts of it may seem forced, and I apologize for that, because I was suffering some major writer's block. Nothing new, I guess. But towards the end I started really cooking again and I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Nine pages long! I wrote two beginnings for it, and I wasn't sure which one to put up, so I had to ask my sister for help. But it was still hard. One is shorter and kind of funny, but the other goes into more depth. In the end I decided to go with the longer one, because it flowed better with the rest of the story. My sister agreed. Thanks for being my proofreader, Molly! I got a comment on how this seemed too light for an 'R' rating. Until now, that's been true. I was setting up her family and childhood and there wasn't anything 'R' worthy. But there will be. A lot of violence and perhaps even sexual content, if I have the guts to write it. But it'll stay light for a few more chapters. Then the violence begins, hehe. Anyways, enjoy!

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_From the memoirs of Donovan Steelwind, the Gryphon of Shang_

History would call her Melisande the Shang, or Melisande the Phoenix. She would be portrayed as perfection itself, unbreakable steel, razor sharp and so far above the human canon that she became a deity unto herself. She was loved by her friends and feared by her enemies, respected by all. She instilled a sense of loyalty in those who served her such as I had never seen, almost fanatical in its strength. She was a magnificent fighter, worthy of the "immortal" Shang; a mage with the strength and potential to earn a black robe from the Imperial University in Carthak; a beauty of the like that appears on this mortal plane only once a century. Melisande was indeed a remarkable woman, too good to be true one could say. But she was no deity. I watched her grow from a girl to a woman, and finally to a queen. And Melisande was as human as any could hope to be.

I say this not to belittle her abilities, great and many as they were. I say this only to emphasize her humanity, which was somehow forgotten in the annals of history.

Melisande was a bright child, but she had not the patience for studying mathematics and history. She preferred to be out and active, doing something physical with her hands where she could see the results. The scholarly pursuits were too vague for her, with no real result that she could see and touch. This hindered her magical studies as well. She struggled through her morning lessons with Nicola, forcing herself to remain focused on the spells and histories of magic. The effort she wouldn't spend on mathematics and literature she desperately tried to spend on magic. She knew magic was useful, just as she knew the fighting arts I taught her were useful. But unlike my trade, which was a simple concentration of body and mind, magic required study and memorization.

It was hard for her. Even as she grew older and more disciplined, magic remained the thorn in her side. Once she mastered a spell, it stayed with her forever. But getting it in her head was a trial in itself. I am not ashamed to say that her father and I had many a good laugh teasing her for her ineptitude at her studies.

I would like to say that she took our gentle teasing in stride, and sometimes she did, but often she became frustrated and retaliated with insults and jibes that became cruder and less innocent as she grew older and spent more time at the barracks of the Own among her father's men. She never could grasp the finer, subtle maneuvers of her grandfather's court, but she could swear an oath that would make the coarsest of infantrymen blush. A skill that she, of course, kept well hidden in the presence of her mother and court nobles.

Melisande, like her father, was an excellent soldier, a natural leader of men. As such, she had few failings in the ways of the warrior. But she did have them.

As a commander, she was often required to travel by sea to reach her destination in less time than it would if she traveled by land. But for Melisande this often posed a major problem. Like her grandfather, Numair Salmalin, she did not travel well. Stubbornness and pride kept her from spending the entire trip bent over the railing, but she always lost a noticeable amount of weight and her skin maintained a slight greenish tinge for days afterwards.

Knights and generals rely of maps for plotting paths through tricky terrain or setting up a good line of defense. But for Melisande, maps were a constant struggle. She could read them well enough, only needing help deciphering the marks from time to time, but she could not make them herself. It is a skill the Riders and knights of the realm learned early in their training, and although every one of them did not master it, most all of them could draw the most basic outline of mountains, trees and rivers. But Melisande, who had the artistic ability of a rock, couldn't even do that. No matter how hard she tried, her maps came out lopsided, more like a child's scribbling than anything else. She was forced to rely upon others to perform this duty. Again I must admit she was often on the receiving end of relentless teasing from her father or myself.

Along with her ineptitude at maps, Melisande couldn't track very well. She was constantly overlooking the subtle hints in the dirt at her feet or scratched on tree bark or bent branches, all key in following elusive prey. Again she had to rely on her men or her magic to do the work for her, something she detested.

Beyond the realm of soldiering, Melisande was rather ordinary. Caught between the world of a country noble and a member of the royal family, she accumulated an odd assortment of skills and failings. Her skills as a cook went only as far as learning how to cook meat without setting it on fire or not burning porridge in a pot. A needle in her hands was a dangerous thing, for she couldn't even mend simple rips in her clothing as most foot soldiers learned to do. Instead she pricked her fingers and tangled the thread and stained the cloth with her own blood. Dancing, a necessity for a young woman of the royal court, was as much a trial for her as magic was. She was forever stepping on her partner's foot or moving off beat. Through years of stubborn practice managed to learn enough steps well enough not to embarrass herself, but she avoided balls and parties like rotten meat all the same.

All of that aside, I think that the thing that made Melisande truly human were her fears. She feared battle, worried that her own skills wouldn't be enough to save her men from a bloody death. Crowds of strangers larger than twenty made her nervous. She was terrified of being helpless, rendered useless by disease or injury or the limit of her abilities. She once told me that she didn't like the thought of dying old and frail in her bed, as many nobles did. When I asked why, she simply said "I want my death to count."

It was something I myself feared, but I never told her that, afraid she would be too willing to throw her life away in battle to "make it count."

There was only one thing that could paralyze her with terror, a fear that pursued her to the end of her days. Melisande was afraid of the dark. Not night, lit by stars and moonlight, but true and utter darkness. When I first met her at four it had no hold on her. But in the summer of her sixth birthday, it claimed its hold on her heart.

Lord Raenef and his men were called out early in the morning to ride to a village only half a day's ride away from their manse in Conté to deal with a spidren attack. I went with him to lend my blade and tracker's skill to their hunt. Without me, Melisande was left with a free afternoon. I left instructions to practice, but didn't expect her to follow them. Agatha told me later that she had tried to practice the stances and exercises on her own, but lasted no more than an hour. After giving up on that, she left the house to run down to the village and play with the local children.

I've never been sure of exactly what happened after that. Melisande never spoke of it, trying desperately to forget. We knew that she and two boys ran off in to the woods to catch frogs in a nearby stream, as they often did. Her mother allowed this only because Katla and Somerled, Lord Raenef's two great hounds, accompanied them as both chaperones and guards. But the boys never returned home to the village, and Melisande never came back to the manse.

I remember that night well. It was close to the new moon and overcast, making it necessary to travel by torchlight. The spidrens had slipped through our search net without a trace, so Raenef had made the decision to return home and pick up the search the next day, this time with Nicola's magical aid.

I was half-asleep in my saddle, wearing from a long day of riding and tracking through bogs and thick forest. But when we came through the gate, Nicola's screams brought me out of my almost-slumber.

"Raenef! She's gone!" Nicola bolted down the steps and to her husband's horse as he swung himself out of the saddle. His feet were on the ground just in time to catch her as her knees gave way and she collapsed against him. "My baby's gone!"

I dismounted so fast my foot caught in the stirrup and I almost fell flat on my face, but Adish was there to grab my shoulder and steady me. I hurried over to my liege and his wife, trying to keep my own fear hidden when I saw it stricken across their faces.

"My love, calm down. Please." Raenef's voice was steady despite the fear in his eyes. He gently stroked Nicola's hair, trying to soothe her enough so she could speak clearly. "What happened?"

She sobbed into his shoulder for a long moment, fighting to calm herself. "She went out to play in the village… she went into the forest with two boys. Their mothers came to me at sunset because they never came home." Her momentary calm broke and she began to cry anew. "Oh Melly, my baby girl."

Raenef carefully wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her inside with Agatha, leaving me to direct the men. I drew a deep breath and began issuing orders.

"Adish, we'll need fresh horses. Tell the men to saddle their extras and prepare to move out soon." He ran to follow my orders. I turned quickly to Leonard, Raenef's chief commander of Second Company. "We'll need men from the village to help us search. And as many torches as we can carry."

"Of course, Master Shang." He bowed quickly and called over two of his men, dispatching them to the village.

I sighed slightly. Even though I had been living with Raenef's family for over a year now, the men of the Own still regarded me as a figured to be awed and respected. They didn't question my taking charge.

Raenef came back outside just as Adish was leading our spare horses from the stable. His face was paler than usual and dark circles were beginning to show under his eyes. He was as tired as the rest of us, and afraid for his only child.

"Nicola has been scrying since sundown, but she can't see anything." He ran a hand through his hair, dirty and tangled from a long day of trudging through the forest. "There is something blocking her vision. Immortal magic."

I was afraid to ask the question because I already knew the answer. "Spidrens?"

"Aye."

The truth lay heavy on our shoulders. We both knew the likely fate of a child alone in a forest full of spidrens. In my mind I saw my little student, full of life and laughter. I saw her cut down under a spidren claw and torn apart by their jagged fangs. Fear gripped my heart with icy claws, but I kept myself calm somehow, resisting the urge to leap on my horse and dash through the woods to find Melisande. Whatever I was feeling, I knew it was ten times stronger for Raenef.

"I've sent men to the village to organize a search party, my lord. With the added number of the village men, we can cover twice the area in half the time." I put my hand on his shoulder, speaking with a confidence I didn't feel. "We will find her, my lord."

Those eyes of the famous Conté blue remained fixated on the ground as his hands slowly tightened into fists. When he finally looked up to meet my gaze, there was murder in his eyes. "We will find her. And if those monsters have touched my daughter, they will yearn for death long before it finds them."

Our search was a failure. We combed the forest with a line almost two hundred men long, moving as quickly as we could while scouring the ground and trees for signs of the missing children. By dawn the men of the Own were close to collapse, and the men of the village were not far behind. After much argument, Lord Raenef consented to halt the search so we could get some much needed sleep. But he would not return to the mansion until he found his daughter. Gathering in the biggest clearing we could find, the men spread out their cloaks and blankets and within moments everyone was asleep, even Raenef.

He woke us an hour after noon. While we'd slept women sent by Nicola had found us, bringing with them salted meats and porridge to rejuvenate the exhausted searchers. While the men ate, Raenef knelt in front of a magical blue fire to speak with his wife.

He kept his voice low, so I didn't hear what he said. But I could tell by the stiff set of his shoulders that he was fighting the urge to weep in despair. I could only hear bare hints of Nicola's voice, no longer frantic with fear but serious and composed. When Raenef waved the fire away and stood, I stepped through the crowd of men to speak with him in hushed whispers.

"Nicola is going to join us. She'll be here in half any hour." He scrubbed at his tousled hair with a trembling hand. "I only hope that she can see what we missed."

"With Lady Nicola riding with us we'll have the help of every animal in the forest, my lord." Once again I forced myself to speak with confidence, but in my heart I felt only dread. "We'll surely find the little mistress then."

He was too distracted to notice the slight quake in my voice and the fear in my eyes, instead taking my words to heart and nodding slightly. To keep ourselves occupied, Raenef and I inspected out tack and weapons, oiling the leather and sharpening the blades with whet stones. We always kept our equipment in good condition, so most of it was completely unnecessary, but neither of us wanted to be left with idle time on our hands.

True to her promise, Nicola arrived in half an hour. She was astride a stallion lathered in sweat, her hair falling out of its bun. I was shocked to see her horse in such a state, especially since Nicola was his rider. Nicola had strong wild magic, so she was always very sensitive to the needs of her animals, and she never overworked them. It occurred to me then that with her daughter's life at stake, nothing else mattered to her. Somehow, even though I wasn't a parent myself, I could understand it.

Raenef was at his wife's side immediately, helping her off her horse. Adish appeared to take the stallion somewhere quiet where it could recuperate while his twin reported to me.

"The men are ready to leave, Master Shang."

"Good." I nodded, clapping a hand on the young Bazhir's shoulder. "We ride on Lord Raenef's signal."

As Namir jogged off to organize the men, I joined my lord and lady. The frantic, terrified Nicola I had seen the night before was nowhere to be seen. Instead she was cool and calm, getting down to business straight away.

"I've already asked every bird within my range to help us, and as we speak the local pack of wolves is on its way here. They'll arrive shortly." She looked at her husband. "I promised them that the men wouldn't harm them."

He nodded. "And they won't." Calling a lieutenant to him, he issued swift orders to inform the men of the wolves and instruct them to give the hunters free passage through the camp.

The mention of wolves sparked a sudden insight in me, and I quickly touched Nicola's elbow to gain her attention. "My lady, what of Katla and Somerled, the hounds? Didn't Melly take them with her?"

She stared at me for a moment, then swore an oath that made the men around us stare in awe. "I'm a fool. Of course she did. I should have looked for them first."

It wasn't more than a minute before Nicola was running across camp and into the forest with Raenef and me following closely. She stumbled over fallen logs and through bramble bushes, deaf to our offers of assistance. We couldn't have been more than two hundred feet from camp when she fell to her knees at the foot of a dead sycamore. Nicola pushed away the rank piles of dead leaves and soil that covered a large hole at the base of the tree that opened into a hollow in the tree's core.

"Raenef, help me." She didn't look back when she called to her husband. Instead she crawled forward until she was halfway in the hole. Lord Raenef and I were puzzled until a soft, low whine came from inside the tree.

Raenef knelt and helped his wife pull Katla from the tree. The big hound was covered in dirt and blood, her wiry gray fur dark and sticky around long, shallow gashes on her flanks and back. Her back right leg was limp and useless. Her long tail wagged slowly as she tried to lick Nicola's hand. An ugly gash ran across her brow, and her right eye beneath it was glued shut by the blood encrusted over it.

"Spidren claws did this." Nicola's voice was dark. She leaned down and rested her brow on Katla's shoulder, falling silent as she spoke magically to the hound. One nod from Lord Raenef sent me back to camp for horses and men. As I ran I thanked the gods that Nicola's presence had made the two hounds almost as smart as any human. An ordinary dog would've been dead or eaten. But Katla was smart enough to get away and hide herself. Because of that we had a chance to find Melisande.

Raenef's men were well trained. While we'd been running through the woods after a dog, they had broken camp and readied their mounts. Adish was waiting for me with his brother, holding the reins of four fresh horses. They followed me back to Nicola and Raenef without question, well accustomed to the odd circumstances of their life with the unconventional pair.

When we returned a large black wolf was standing where I had last seen Nicola. Several smaller wolves sat in a ring around Katla washing her wounds with their tongues. The large black one looked up at me with Nicola's blue eyes, jaws parting in a wolfish grin of welcome. Raenef turned around to face me, holding Nicola's bundled dress under one arm.

"She's going ahead with the pack. I can keep track of her magically." He accepted the reins to his horse from Namir. "Nicola can't sense Somerled, so he's either unconscious or dead, but the pack has his scent. Katla tells us she last saw Melly with him." He took a deep breath. "That's the best lead we have."

I clapped my hand on his shoulder and spoke with a confidence I didn't feel. "Don't worry, my lord. With these fine hunters to aid us we're sure to find the little one."

A pair of elderly wolves had apparently been nominated to remain with Katla as nurses. The rest of the pack threw back their heads in a single howl, and the hunt began.

It was perhaps one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life. We had to gallop to keep pace with the wolves, ducking low in the saddle to avoid branches. Our horses weaved through the trees and leapt over fallen logs. I was not the best of horsemen, and it was all I could do to keep from being hurled from the saddle. My gaze was frozen on the path directly in front of me, for I feared that should I look away I would certainly falter.

I don't remember how we rode. It seemed like a life time, but I suppose in reality it was only ten minutes at most. The wolves ahead howled to announce they had discovered something, and we reined our mounts out of their gallop and into a more sedate canter. It was growing late and the sunlight that filtered through the leaves overhead was weak, making it difficult to see. I could head the snarls of the pack ahead, and the screams of what sounded like human voices.

A man on my left was lifted screaming from his saddle into the trees above, and two others beyond him were suddenly caught in a glowing web. I drew my long sword from its sheathe on my back and dismounted. Remaining on my horse would only put me at a disadvantage. Urging the gelding to turn back, I peered through the dim light in search of Raenef.

A huge object knocked into me from behind, throwing me to the ground and pinning me with its weight. I struggled to turn my head so as to see what was on top of me, and to my great disgust and horror it was my horse. His head had been ripped from his body, leaving a gory mess that made my stomach roll. Guilt at being so irresponsible with the beast would find me later, but now I needed to focus on getting the damn thing off me.

My right hand and sword were pinned beneath the horse. With my left hand I reached out and grabbed blindly for something to hold onto so I could pull myself, now almost completely blind in the dim light. My hand found a long, hairy leg, and I immediately jerked away, revulsion rolling over me in waves. I looked up to meet the black gaze of a female spidren, grinning at me with silver fangs that already dripped with blood.

I was not afraid to die. As a Shang, especially one of the immortal Shang, it was something I had to come to terms with long ago. But I did fear this, dying helplessly for nothing, unable to defend myself and without anything to show for my efforts. It was one of my great fears, the fear of many Shang, I suspect. A meaningless death was more than I could bear to consider. Melisande was still out here somewhere, alone and afraid, or perhaps even dead. I couldn't die until I found her.

A horse screamed behind the spidren, and automatically it turned to look. I saw my chance and with all of my strength I yanked my right hand and sword free, most likely tearing some of the muscles in my arm in the process. Before the spidren could look back and see my weapon I stabbed it upwards, praying it would hit. It pierced the monster's throat, breaking through the other side and lodging itself there. Silver blood gushed from the wound, running down the sword and on to my hand. It was like acid, burning into my flesh. Before I could let go the hilt was yanked from my hand as the spidren reared up, screaming in rage and pain as it desperately clawed at the blade lodged in its throat.

Two arrows thudded into its side, finishing the beast off in a merciful end it didn't deserve. Helping hands grabbed my arms and pulled me free of my horse and lifting me to my feet. It was the Bazhir twins, Adish and Namir. Suddenly I could see, the forest around me lit by a bright blue light.

Raenef stepped over my dead horse to join us, a blue mage light burning brightly over his head. The naked sword in his hand dripped with silver spidren blood. His face was grim as he looked me over. "Are you hurt, Donovan?"

I held up my hand and showed him the ugly welt that covered the back of it and part of my wrist and shook my head. "Aside from this my lord, I'm fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me, is all."

He nodded and raised his sword, his voice booming through the forest, amplified by his Gift. "Men of the Own, form your squads. Don't let them touch you. Forward!"

The initial panic at the sudden appearance of the spidrens had been brief. While I was pinned under my horse the men of the Own had taken charge of the village men and driven the immortals back, killing many of them in the process. Every mage in the Company had cast a light, and the forest was brighter than daylight.

We moved forward, following the howls of the wolves and the screams of the spidrens. I stopped briefly to pull my sword from the monster's corpse, grunting with effort as I used only my left hand. When I tried to use my right hand, white hot pain lanced through my arm. My guess had been right, I had torn something. It would be useless from here on out.

The bodies of men and spidrens littered the ground. The immortals looked like giant pincushions, many of them full of over a dozen arrows while others had simply been run through or beheaded. It was hard to look at the men. Some had heads ripped from their bodies like my horse, or others had simply been ripped in half. The spridens didn't have the clean cutting edge of swords and axes so their work was gory and nauseating. Before that night I had never seen the inside of a man. Now I saw plenty, the halves of bodies lying close to one another with their insides strewn between them. I heard men vomiting behind me, and it was all I could do to keep from joining them.

We found the spidren nest under siege. Wolves swarmed over the spidrens, ripping them limb from limb as ruthlessly as they had our men. There were more than I remembered, another pack must have joined them. The huge black one, Nicola, led the attack, ripping out the throats of every spidren that crossed her path. At first I had thought it to be total chaos, but now I saw that they were organized, making sure to attack in numbers and moving in a pincer movement around the mouth of the nest.

Raenef dispatched orders quickly, sending his men around the wolves' formation to act as support. Their archers kept any spidrens from escaping and the rest filled in any gaps in the line. I followed him as he worked his way through the wolves towards his wife, covering his back while he set immortals aflame with the blue fire of his Gift.

The nest had once been a barn, long abandoned from the looks of it. The spidrens had fortified it with large boulders and tree branches. Glowing webs hung from the barn and the trees around it, threatening to entangle any who ventured too close.

"My lord," I shouted to be heard over the battle. "Could she be in the nest?"

He nodded grimly and we began cutting a path through the spidrens with sword and Gift. We were joined by Namir and Leonard, one of the commanders. The archers on the outskirts of the battle caught on to our plan and began targeting the immortals in our way or sniping off those that sought to sneak up behind us. We reached the entrance with amazing speed.

"Keep an eye out for attacks from above." Raenef said, casting another mage light to send ahead of us into the blackness.

It was like something out of a madman's nightmare. Webs hung from the walls and rafters and bones were scattered across the ground. The odd human or animal limb was left here and there in the webs along with cocoons. Some were large enough to hold a horse or cow, others were unnervingly close to human size, and others could have been small deer or other woodland creatures.

"Is she here?" I asked, my eyes constantly scanning the dimly light loft above us.

There weren't any stalls or pens left in the barn, so our view was unobstructed. In the corner I could see a pile of broken bodies, human and animal, left to rot. It also served as a play place for their young, we soon discovered, as half a dozen tiny monsters raced screaming from underneath the bodies. At the same time three adults dropped from above, forcing us to duck to avoid their swiping claws.

Raenef shouted something and pointed his sword at the charging offspring, and all six of them burst into bright blue flames. Leonard, who was also Gifted, followed his leader's example and set one of the adults aflame with his bright yellow Gift. Namir and I had not a drop of magic between us, and were left to rely on our blades. I moved as quickly as I could, lifting my blade high and then bringing it slamming down into the back of the spidren's neck. Without both hands I was at a great disadvantage, unable to wield my heavy blade to its full potential. The blow killed the spidren, but I didn't have the strength to behead it fully. My blade was wedge tightly in the flesh, and I cursed myself for not thinking of that before I struck. I couldn't get it out with only one hand.

I didn't linger over the blade, quickly reaching for my dagger in its sheath at the small of my back. Perhaps it had been stupid of me to come, for when it came to battling immortals I was completely inexperienced. I could take on half a dozen men at once without worrying, but against these fearsome monsters I was a rank amateur.

I refused to let doubt cloud my thoughts, diverting my mind by taking inventory of the weapons I carried. I had three other knives, one in my boot and the others in sheaths on my wrists. Even though I wasn't naturally left handed, I was confident that if I had to I could throw accurately, especially with a big target like a spidren.

But it didn't come to that. Those three had been the only ones left in the nest, all of the others having left to fight the wolves and Raenef's men. We were alone in this place of nightmares.

"Leonard, guard the door." Raenef's voice was a grim whisper. "Namir, I want you to cut down those cocoons, we need to see what's inside. Donovan… come with me."

The sad task of searching the body pile in the corner was left to us. We immediately found the two village boys at the top of the pile, broken and pitiful, completely drained of their blood. That was how the spidrens fed their young when they were too small to consume flesh, by giving them helpless victims to drink.

Beneath the boys we found the bodies of woodland creatures unfortunate enough to stumble into their webs. There were humans, but their bodies had decayed beyond all recognition. Blessedly, we found no more children.

I was crying when we finished, full of sadness and rage at the monsters who would do this. Raenef had to wipe his eyes clear of the tears threatening to fall. We were both sad at seeing so much suffering. Spidrens could keep the prey the chose to feed to their young alive for days. These pour souls had not died easily. But we were also full of relief that Melisande was not one of them.

"My lord!" Namir's voice brought us back to the center of the barn where he was cutting open a cocoon. It was the second hound, Somerled, barely alive and comatose.

We began to search the cocoons with a renewed vigor. We found two women, also in a coma-like state, and a handful of horses and cows. We set them aside with the woodland creatures we found for Nicola to look after.

My heart stopped when we found a small, child-sized cocoon high in the rafters. Namir climbed down slowly, treating it like a precious doll of porcelain. Raenef was waiting on the ground, his arms outstretched to take the bundle from the Bazhir when he was low enough. We held our breath as he carefully cut through the spidren silk with his dagger and gently pulled the little body free.

Melisande.

I sat down immediately to keep from falling, my knees weak with relief. Raenef fell to his knees beside me, clutching his daughter to his chest and weeping tears of joy. All was silent but for the soft whispers or Namir and Leonard as they sent a prayer of thanks to Mithros and the Mother Goddess.

I recovered enough to realize we needed help with her and the others. Turning, I looked outside to see the battle dying down. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I shouted as loud as I could. "Healer! We need a healer!"

The next one to come wasn't a healer, but Nicola, leaping over the fallen spidrens and running at full wolf speed. She was covered with a handful of shallow cuts and one ear was missing, but all of that was forgotten as she raced to her husband's side. Somehow she managed to shift back to her human body and keep running, uncaring that she was naked and bleeding. Kneeling next to Raenef , she reached out to touch her daughter's face.

"My baby…" She began to weep as well, leaning heavily against Raenef as sobs shook her body. Namir quietly stepped up behind her to cover her with his cloak, but she hardly noticed the gesture.

The company's healer arrived soon after to look Melisande over, but she was virtually unharmed. A few shallow cuts and bruises scattered across her arms and shoulders were all that she had to show for her captivity. The healer knelt next to Nicola and reached out to touch her forehead to check for any signs of fever, but before he could Melisande's eyes opened wide and she began to scream.

"Mama! Papa!" Seeing her parents hovering at her side she immediately threw herself into her father's waiting arms, screaming and sobbing as she clung desperately to Raenef.

What she said after that I didn't understand. She fell back into Yamani, as she always did when frightened or upset, so the only Nicola and Raenef understood her. They immediately began to soothe and reassure her in the same language. The rest of us looked on anxiously, not understanding why she was crying and even worse, unable to reassure her. I made a quiet vow to myself to learn Yamani as quickly as I could.

Raenef's mage light shot past me from its place in the entryway to hover over the family and suddenly the barn was as bright as day. Soon after Melisande began to quiet, her screams fading into soft, hiccupping sobs. She refused to let go of her father, so he simply sat in the dirt with her and issued orders from there. Nicola reluctantly moved away from her husband and child to tend Somerled and the other rescued animals, pulling them out of their comas and healing whatever wounds they had.

Like Melisande, Somerled was relatively unhurt. He limped over to lay on the ground next to his master and shoved his nose under Melisande's hand, providing a soft, solid source of comfort for the terrified little girl. The company healer brought the two women out of their comatose state without much trouble. They were thin and dehydrated, but save for a broken arm for the younger woman they were unharmed.

Night passed quickly as I helped them men of the Own dig a mass grave for the bodies we had found. Other than the two boys from the village all of the corpses were decomposed beyond any recognition. We piled the spidren bodies inside the barn and set the entire building on fire. Company mages were posted around it to keep the fire from spreading to forest, and while it burned the rest of us were given the unsettling task of gathering up the bodies of the men we had lost. Most of them were in pieces.

Another mass grave was dug for the fallen soldiers and village men. By noon I was covered in dirt and blood and my clothes were soaked with sweat. My right arm was in a sling, held tight against my chest to prevent any movement, so using a shovel was nearly impossible. That limited me to helping carry bodies out of the forest. I was almost overwhelmed by the stench of rotting flesh and the thick smoke from the burning barn. Tying a wet handkerchief over my nose and mouth brought some relief, but there was no escaping it.

We didn't leave until it was almost sunset and rain clouds were darkening the skies. Stretchers were made out of saplings and tents to carry out the wounded, both human and animal. The barn was nothing more than a smoldering pile or burnt wood and ash, and after dousing it with countless buckets of water the mages deemed it safe to leave it unattended. As if agreeing, the clouds above opened and rain poured down in relentless sheets, thoroughly soaking the rubble and eradicating any remaining bits or daylight.

Melisande, riding in front of her father on his black warhorse, began to cry again. Raenef quickly cast a mage light so bright that it was like daylight, even in the downpour. She quieted almost immediately, but kept herself tightly tucked against him with her eyes fixed on her mother where she rode in front of them, unwilling to look out into the surrounding darkness.

I walked next to Namir, who had generously given his horse to one of the rescued women. She was an inexperienced rider so he had to hold the reins and lead it for her. Looking at Melisande as she cowered in her father's grasp, I turned to ask a question.

"Namir, what did Melisande say when she woke up?"

In his five years of living in a household where Yamani was the primary language, he had picked up enough of it to understand what he heard. He frowned as he answered. "She said: it's dark, too dark. Make it go away. Too dark."

"Dark?"

He nodded. "I spoke with the healer after he looked at her. The venom didn't put her to sleep as it did the others. She was awake the entire time she was in that damn cocoon."

It was a horrific thought indeed. Terrified and alone, Melisande had been left in complete darkness, not knowing if she would ever get out. I doubt I could have dealt with it myself, and trying to imagine what it must have been like for a five year old girl was appalling. I shook my head. "Gods…"

It was a miserable trek back to the manse. We were wet and it was almost impossible to see where we were going, but no one wanted to stop and camp. We just wanted to be away from that horrible place. I can't imagine what it was like for the poor men assigned to carry the litters with the bodies of the two little boys. I could hardly even look at the poor little mounds beneath the canvas shrouds. It made my heart ache.

I had seen battle before, many times. In my early years as the Shang Falcon I had often found work as a mercenary, as many Shang do. I was no stranger to death. But this was something new, something horrible. Innocent children had died, men had been murdered in the most horrific ways imaginable, and a little girl's heart had been broken. It was all just too sad.

We walked through the gates of the manse just before dawn, the pouring rain no more than a drizzle by then. Nicola took Melisande from Raenef, casting her own mage light, and took her inside to put her to bed. Raenef, tired and worn as he was, didn't waste time in going to meet the mothers of the two boys we had found. They been waiting in the main parlor with Agatha the entire time we had been gone. Hearing their anguished wails I hurried upstairs to my room, unwilling to face any more heartbreak. Stripping out of my drenched clothing, I collapsed on my bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

For the next three weeks Melisande didn't leave the mansion, shadowing her parents like a small puppy. When her father left to patrol or train with the Own she stayed with her mother, but when Raenef was home she was constantly at his side, one small hand clutching his pant leg or shirt sleeve. Her mother cast a long lasting light that hovered above her day and night. But even with that light she refused to sleep without one of her parents in the room with her, somehow always waking up whenever they tried to slip out quietly.

Eventually she expanded her trust to Agatha and myself, and then to Adish and Namir. But she always had to be with one of us.

It lasted for months, how many I don't remember. Slowly she began to spend time away from us, leaving the safety of our home's walls to venture out and play with the village children. Nicola no longer allowed her to go out of sight of the manse without one of us accompanying her, but for at least a year Melisande was terrified of the mere thought of entering the forest where she almost met her doom.

Time dulled the edge of her fear, burying it under the haze of memory, but it was never far beneath the surface. She was able to go without her mother's light once she learned to cast her own, and Nicola spelled a large chunk of crystal to emit a steady bright light for Melisande to keep with her at night. Dimly lit rooms made her nervous, but as long as there was a steady source of light she could keep herself calm. She always slept with her mother's stone or a long lasting candle next to her bed.

She moved on with her life, growing up into a fine young woman who would one day become a queen of legend. But her fear stayed with her, always looming, threatening to consume her. She would struggle with it all of her life. After all, she was only human.


	7. When The Black God Calls

My grandfather, Numair Salmalin, was the strongest mage of his time. He passed on his powerful Gift to my mother and then me. After marrying my grandmother he lived with her in the Palace as King Jonathan's head mage and when Jonathan died he continued to work for my other grandfather, King Roald. He retired a year after I was born, moving south to live in Port Legann, my father's primary post.

Their house was just down the street from my father's, and I often ran down with Katla and Somerled to see them. Grandmama Daine would bring out her big leather-bound book of animal anatomy and I would sit on her lap as she led me through it. Grandpapa always had a new trick to show me, pulling things from behind my ear or making them disappear in his hand. His hobby was slight of the hand and he taught me everything he knew, even how to juggle. My mother lectured him for that, because the minute I learned how I went home and tried to juggle her glass measuring vials and flasks, breaking two of them before she could stop me.

He was always encouraging me in my magical studies, keeping me on task when I would have run off to play. I loved my mother and respected her, but something about Grandpapa kept me from shirking my studies, no matter how boring and tedious they became. He never yelled at me or became frustrated when I didn't get a spell right, he just told me what I did wrong and how I could fix it. It still took me days to master one thing, but his confidence in me kept my self-esteem from being effected.

Grandpapa was a big man, even in his old age. Time had hunched his broad shoulders and taken an inch or so off his height, but he still radiated power. His long hair was still full and long, albeit pure white, and his black eyes were always full of love and warmth. My mother had gotten some of his height, but I would truly benefit from it. Even as a child people knew I was going to be tall. I towered over my playmates and could look my cousins in the eye, even Liam, my Uncle Jonathan's oldest son who was almost four years older than me. I only wish that I had also inherited his powerful build to add strength to my speed.

But despite his strength, age eventually took its toll on him and he died after a month-long fight with a malignant tumor in his abdomen. I was eight years old and didn't fully understand what his dying meant. Part of me still believed that when we went home to Legann he would be there, waiting to teach me a new trick or help me with my latest spell. But when we did return for his funeral and I watched them lay his casket in the ground, the cold hard truth hit me at last.

I was surrounded by people in black. I remember Grandmama holding my hand as I cried. Her aged features were set in stone, blue-grey eyes unblinking as she watched the undertakers shovel dirt into the grave. Her grey curls her piled atop her head and covered in a sheer black veil and she wore a simple black dress that seemed out of place amongst the finery of the nobles attending the service. But she stood with more dignity and elegance than anyone there.

"Do not cry, sweetling, he's at peace now." Grandmama wrapped an arm around my thin shoulders and hugged me tightly. I could hear the slight quake in her voice and knew that she was holding back her own tears. "He wouldn't want you to feel such despair."

"But I miss him. Why can't he come back?" I was young and ignorant. Never before had anyone close to me died. I didn't understand why he had to go and why he wasn't coming back.

"His time with us is over, Melly." She led me away from the grave and down the hill to our carriage, keeping me tucked tight against her side. "The Black God has called him and he had to answer. But you will see him again one day."

I didn't understand what she meant, but I took comfort in her words. In some horrible cliché the cloud-darkened sky opened up and it began to rain, adding a final dismal quality to that wretched day. We climbed in to the carriage with my parents and began the long ride home. No one spoke and the only sound was my mother's soft sobs as she wept into my father's shoulder. Grandmama didn't look at me, her eyes distant and unfocused, and I couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking.

She was fourteen years younger than Grandpapa, in good health and with many years ahead of her. I didn't see it then but as I think of it now I realize that she was looking at a grim future indeed. The man she loved more than anything in the world was gone and she would not follow him for a long time to come. She still had my mother and me, and her friends, but her spirit was broken.

Mama didn't let her stay in their empty house alone. At her insistence Grandmama sold the house and moved in with us. By doing so Mama hoped to lift her spirits, and it did seem to help, but she was quiet and often stared off into nothingness, lost in thought. Her room was next to mine and sometimes at night I could hear her crying. At such times I would crawl out of bed and slip down the hall in to her room so I could curl up in bed with her, hoping to soothe her with my presence. It helped, but sadness seemed to be embedded in her very soul.

Almost a year later she talked to me about it, sitting outside our manse in Conté and watched two hawks soaring on the thermals above. Tears fell freely from her eyes and when she took my hand her grip was tight but I could feel her trembling.

"Grandmama, what's wrong?"

She answered me with a soft voice, her blue-grey eyes fixed on the pair of hawks. "I miss him, Melly. I miss him so much."

"But you said we'd see him again someday."

She sighed and nodded, turning to look at me. "I did, and we will. But… it seems so far away. Living without him is just so hard, I don't know if I can stand it."

I didn't fully understand her words but they frightened me. "What do you mean?"

"My heart aches, Melly. It's as if someone tore a hole in it and I can't heal no matter how I try." She paused and took a deep breath. "He was a part of me. Without him I'm incomplete. And at times it's as if there's no hope for me at all."

"But you have Mama and me."

Her eyes widened and she hugged me tight. "I know, dear, I know. And don't you ever think that I don't love you with everything that I am. I cherish every moment I have with you. But…"

"Without Grandpapa it's not enough?"

She nodded. "In a way. I love my family and friends, but Numair was my other half. Without him life… hurts."

I hugged her tightly then, my own eyes full of tears. Looking up at the pair of hawks, I felt their joy. They were mates. The sun was shining and the winds were strong and everything was right in their world as they sailed on the thermals. Suddenly I understood that was how Grandmama must have felt when she was with my grandfather. I understood that if the hawks were separated the sun and the wind and all of the wonderful things in life wouldn't be the same without the one they loved.

Just over a month later Grandmama feel ill, a deep, racking cough settling in the root of her lungs and lodging itself there against all the healers' efforts. It wore away at her strength, slowly reducing her to a mere shadow of the woman she once was. Eventually the physician restricted her completely to bed.

I ate my meals with her and when I wasn't in lessons with my mother or training with Donovan I was sitting next to her in bed with her giant book of animal anatomy spread across our laps. Page by page, beast by beast she led me through it, often accompanying the book's information with a story from her adventures.

"I once had a marmoset living with me." She smiled to herself as we came to the page showing the exotic monkey's skeleton and organs. "His name was Zek. I pulled him out of a river on my first trip to Carthak."

"What was he like?"

"He was very solemn. Normally monkeys are very energetic and can't sit still, but after his wife and children were taken from him he changed. But he was still very curious. And he loved to eat." She laughed. "He and Kitten would raid the pantry together and make all sorts of messes. And sometimes she got him to eat spicy peppers and powders and he broke half of the bowls in the kitchen trying to find enough water to put out the fire in his mouth."

I started laughing too when she began pantomiming his frantic movements with her hands, and she just laughed harder. But her laughter was cut short by a sudden attack of body shaking coughs. I immediately closed the book and grabbed the glass of warm honey water from the nightstand, holding it to her lips so she could drink. The honey was supposed to soothe her throat and calm the coughs, and it had every time. Until then.

She spit up the water and began to cough even harder. Doubling over she covered her mouth with her hand, and when she pulled it away it was covered in blood.

I screamed and ran from the room to find my mother. It was late but Adish was sent for the healer while Cook brewed some of the special tea he had left on his last visit. Grandmama didn't cough up any more blood, but they still wouldn't let me back in to see her. I sat outside in the hall with Katla and Somerled, crying into his scruffy neck while his mate licked my hand. With their ears I could hear what the healer said to my parents while he checked my grandmother's pulse as she slept.

"Tis consumption, my lady. Twas not so the last time I was here, but since then it has developed quicker'n I've ever seen before." His voice was grave and full of grave tidings. "I cannot stop it, the rot has progressed too far, beyond my skill, my lady. If it continues at this rate, she'll not live beyond a week."

I could hear my mother weeping, and then there was a thud as she fell to her knees and my father knelt with her. I wanted to run in and throw myself in to their arms, but I was frozen. My mind was numb. I didn't fight when Miwako came with Donovan and he picked me up. Together they took me to my room and put me to bed. Miwako stayed with me that night, lying next to me in bed and stroking my hair as I cried myself to sleep.

My father spoke to my Uncle Jonathan via magic and asked for him to send King Roald's healer, Sir Hiroyuki of Queenscove, right away. But Corus was a week's ride away, even galloping the entire journey and switching horses at post houses. He would be too late.

My lessons and training were forgotten. I lived that last week in my grandmother's room, reading her stories when she was awake and lying next to her when she slept. She spent more and more time sleeping, and she was always coughing. The blood she spat up stained the sheets and my clothes and my mother feared that I would succumb to it as well, but I refused to leave her and I remained as hail and healthy as ever.

There are times that I wish I could have given her some of my strength, some of my youth to help her fight her illness, but in reality death was what she wanted. She yearned to be with her beloved again, and death was the answer to that plea.

Five days after the healer spoke his prediction I sat in my grandmother's bed, holding her hand and reading her the story of Alanna the Lioness and her quest for the Dominion Jewel. Alanna had been one of Grandmama's first friends when she'd arrived in Tortall from Galla and she knew all of her stories by heart. But by that time I was out of stories and she was too far gone to truly listen to anything but the sound of my voice.

My reading was interrupted when she suddenly grabbed my hand. "Melly…"

"Grandmama?" I shoved my book aside and put my hand over hers. "Grandmama?"

"He's calling me, Melly…" She was smiling. "I have to go now…"

"Grandmama!" I cried, tears streaming down my face. I could feel her hand growing cool in mine. "Please don't go Grandmama!"

"Love you…"

And she was gone. I felt her life slip away between my fingers and screamed. Her hand went limp and I threw my arms around her. She was so thin and small. The disease had eaten away at her until she was little more than a skeleton. I lifted her from the bed and hugged her to me, screaming for my mother. Even after Grandpapa the year before death had remained a distant, vague concept that I didn't understand. But now it was right in front of me, staring at me through my grandmother's open eyes.

Miwako was the first to enter the room after hearing my cries. She screamed and rushed to the bed. It was obvious Grandmama was dead, and the first thing Miwako did was pry me away from her body. I fought her wildly, not wanting to leave her. But as she pulled me from the bed Mama and Cook ran in. Seeing me fighting like a wild cat against my nurse and my grandmother lying in a limp heap on the bed, they screamed much the same as Miwako had. But tears didn't stop Cook from helping Miwako to subdue me. They carried me bodily from the room as my mother wept over Grandmama's body.

That night every candle in my room was lit. I made a fire in the hearth and took out the special stone my mother had made for me years ago to help me sleep. Miwako stayed with me, her arms wrapped around me as I shook with sobs. Neither of us slept that night. I couldn't close my eyes, and Miwako refused to sleep while I was still awake. I was certain that if I closed my eyes death would overtake me. It was like the dark, smothering everything that was bright and good. As long as my eyes were open and my candles were burning, I would be safe.

Hiroyuki of Queenscove arrived the next day in time to take part in preparations for my grandmother's funeral. I wanted to blame him for Grandmama's death, because he hadn't arrived in time to save her. He could've traveled faster, tried harder. But in my heart I knew that even if he had come when she was still alive she wouldn't have been saved. And I could see the sorrow in his hazel eyes as he spoke with my parents. I just didn't have it in me to hate him.

The day after Sir Hiroyuki arrived we left our home in Conté for Port Legann. There we could lay Grandmama to rest next to her beloved. I rode behind the wagon carrying her casket on my pony, a gelding I had named Berry. Mother had wanted me to ride in the wagon with her and the other women of our household, but nothing short of manacles and chains could have kept me in that stifling box. I couldn't stand the thought of being out of the sun and wind. Father managed to convince her to let me ride on my own. He understood how depressed I was, and that being locked inside a carriage would have been the worst thing for me then. So I rode behind the hearse wagon, trying not to stare at the black box that held my Grandmama.

It took two days to get to Legann. After watching me stare at Grandmama's casket for the entire first day, Adish and Namir made it their mission to distract me from my misery. They took me ahead of the procession and held short races, on horseback and on foot. I knew what they were doing, but I went along anyway. It helped distract me from my grief.

When it came to foot races I was sorely at a disadvantage. They were both very tall and slender, with amazingly long legs. So I acted as a referee, calling the start with a wave of a handkerchief and standing at the finish point to decide the winner. They made me laugh as they started to wrestle after finishing so close together that I couldn't decide who'd one.

"You're a lousy liar, you motherless dog!" Adish caught his brother in a headlock, trying to force him into admitting defeat.

"She's your mother too, you imbecile!" Namir wriggled free and booted his brother in the rear.

I laughed gleefully and clapped, cheering them both on as they rolled in the grass. My pony and their horses watched in mild amusement. Their wry comments about two grown men acting like spring colts made me laugh even harder. When I couldn't resist anymore I threw myself into the fray, climbing onto Namir's back and covering his eyes with my hands. Adish tackled him and we fell in a heap of tangled limbs. I was in the middle of it, laughing and screaming as I tried to climb free. The twins banded together against me, pinning me in the grass and taking turns tickling me.

That was how my father found us, covered in dirt and grass and laughing so hard we were crying. He didn't interrupt our game, knowing how important it was for me to have some relief from the sadness that had settled over our family. Donovan stopped next to him, putting a hand to his mouth to cover his laughter. Finally the carriage caught up with us and Mama, Miwako and Cook peered out the window. When Adish and Namir finally relented and stopped tickling me, I was pleased to see a small smile on my mother's lips.

Namir walked with me the rest of the way to Legann. He and Adish took turns carrying me on their shoulders. They ran and jumped, making me squeal and cling tightly to them so I wouldn't fall off. Eventually I grew tired and Adish started to carry me piggy-back style. I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder. That's how I went through the city gates, sound asleep under the watchful eye of my faithful bodyguards.

I have never forgotten what they did for me that day. Who knows what would've become of me had I been left to stew in my misery. It had always been like that. Whenever I was upset or sad the twins would go out of their way to make me laugh and smile again. They were like big brothers to me. No matter how old and mature I became, in their eyes I was always their adopted little sister who needed their protection from the world.

Despite my wonderful day with Adish and Namir, the sadness returned the next morning. Miwako helped me dress in a formal gown of black silk. My boyishly short hair was pinned up and covered with a veil, and I had to submit to a subtle form of torture known as court slippers. Miwako had to help me down the stairs so I didn't trip and fall to my untimely death. It was the first dress I had worn all year, and I had forgotten how to walk with a skirt. I kept stepping on the hem and tripping over my petticoats, and the hideous slippers required by court etiquette made my feet scream.

Being confined to a restricting dress only made my already sour mood worse. I squirmed and fidgeted, making everything three times more difficult than it had to be. My mother, normally sweet and patient, was in no mood to put up with my complaints.

"Melisande, if I hear another word out of you today you'll spend the rest of the week in your room with math lessons." Her voice was harsh as she cut me off in the middle of complaining about my slippers. "We're all uncomfortable, but we learn to deal with it. Now stay with Miwako and try to be a girl for once."

I was stunned into silence by the sharp sting of her words. She didn't look at me as she gathered up her fur lined cloak and walked out of the room, leaving me alone with Miwako and the hounds. They, too, were shocked at my mother's outburst. Miwako sat next to me on the cushioned bench and put her arms around me in a tight hug.

"She didn't mean it, jochan. She's just hurting, that's all."

I nodded, but didn't say anything. Whenever Mama was angry or upset with me, she always managed to get in a comment about how boyish and unusual I was. Did it… did it hurt her so much that I wasn't typical noble girl? I looked down at my hands, seeing the calluses from holding weapons and the stubby, ragged fingernails. I counted the small scratches I had acquired from playing outdoors and climbing trees and handling my practice weapons. They were not the soft, dainty hands of proper noble girl. They were skilled at handling weapons and gear, but clumsy with a needle or quill. I was painfully slow with schoolwork, so slow I often thought myself stupid. And whenever Mama tried to teach me to sew I stained the cloth red with my blood, pricking my fingers more than actually stitching the cloth.

I clenched my hands into fists and turned to hide my face in Miwako's kimono. If I were more like a girl… would it make my mama happy? Would she stop crying over Grandmama? In the past week I had seen my mother cry more times than I could count. I would walk past my parents' room and see her crying against my father's shoulder. The deep, wretched sobbing of a broken heart. But outside of their room she was stone, her face white and bloodless, her back held ramrod straight. And when she looked at me, there was no light in her eyes… only emptiness.

As if the world was spitting in my face, the day was beautiful and clear, the sun warming us while a pleasant breeze kept it from getting too hot. It was infuriating. My heart was black and cold with grief while nature was rejoicing all around me. I wanted to scream at the gods for their twisted sense of humor.

As I watched the undertakers lower Grandmama's casket into the freshly dug grave a weight settled over my heart, growing heavier and heavier until I thought I would suffocate. When I could stand it no more I broke free of Miwako's hold and ran from the gathered crowd of mourners, ripping the veil from my hair and kicking off the hated slippers as tears streamed down my face. I ran as fast as I could, holding the restricting skirts high around my knees, trying to outrun my grief. I ran until I thought my lungs would burst, and finally I collapsed against a tall statue overgrown with ivy.

In my short life I had never felt such pain, such emptiness. I felt Grandmama's absence like a gaping hole in my heart. My chest tightened painfully, making it hard to breath. In the end, I gave in and succumbed to the hard, body-racking sobs I had been holding back all day. I curled up in the grass and cried until I was exhausted, hiccupping as I tried to catch my breath.

A deep voice spoke from behind me, making me jump. "Melisande."

I sat up quickly, wincing at the cramp in my legs, and looked up at the owner of that voice. "Who are you?"

"My name is Weiryn, I am your mother's grandfather."

I started at the name, gazing at him with eyes the size of tea saucers. Grandmama had told me of her divine blood, the origin of her powerful wild magic, but it had never truly seemed real to me, until now.

He was tall, but not quite six feet, and heavily muscled. He wore nothing but a deerskin breechclout and his feet were bare. I could see faint olive streaks on his smooth red-brown skin, colors that must have helped him blend into the forest when hunting. He was handsome, with a strong jaw and wide mouth, and his eyes were the same color as the leaves of an oak tree. But by far his most remarkable features was the pair of stag-like antlers rooted in his short brown curls on the top of his head.

His expression was stern as he regarded me. "Why do you weep?"

I rubbed my eyes to clear them of lingering tears. "Grandmama is dead." It hurt just to say it.

He frowned slightly. "She have left the mortal plane, but she is far from gone, child."

"Then where is she?"

"Where she goes is up to her, my dear." Another new voice, this time a woman's. A beautiful woman dressed in a green dress stepped up next to Weiryn, smiling warmly at me.

Part of me wasn't surprised to see her there, it was only logical that the Green Lady would be with her mate at their daughter's funeral. But that didn't keep me from staring up at her in awe. Her golden hair was piled atop her head and pinned up beneath a short green veil. The gown she wore was simple in design, but covered with intricate embroidery in complex designs. I noted all of it absent-mindedly, my gaze fixating almost immediately on her eyes.

They were large and blue, set under slender, graceful brows that were a shade darker than the rest of her hair. They were… the same as my mother's eyes… Grandmama's eyes.

She knelt down in front of me and took my hands in her own and I couldn't help but marvel at the incredible softness of her skin. It was literally like silk. But then again, every thing about the Green Lady was inhumanly perfect. She was a goddess, after all.

Finally I found my voice. "What does she have to choose?"

My great-grandmother squeezed my hands and gave me a gentle smile. "She has a choice now, on where she wishes to go. Because she is half-god, she can now become a minor goddess and join us in the Divine Realms. Or she can join her husband in the Dark God's realm, as all mortals do."

I cast my eyes down, immediately knowing the answer. "She'll follow Grandpapa…"

The Green Lady nodded. "That's what I think, too. She wouldn't want to spend the rest of eternity without him."

Despite my best efforts, I began to cry again, remembering the loneliness in Grandmama's eyes when she spoke of my Grandpapa. Warms arms wrapped around me as my great-grandmother pulled me into a tight hug. I leaned my head on her shoulder, my tears soaking the fine cloth of her green dress. She hummed a wordless tune, slowly rocking me back and forth and running her hand over my tangled hair. Even though I had just met her, I felt an immediate connection to the Green Lady. She radiated warmth and comfort, and in her embrace the piercing grief that had gripped my heart for the past three days slowly began to fade. It wasn't gone, not by far, but the razor sharp edge had dulled, bringing a much needed relief to my heartsick soul.

"Melisande," Weiryn sank into a crouch next to us. "Do you know why we are here?"

I sniffed and turned to look at him from the warmth of my great grandmother's arms. "To say goodbye to Grandmama?"

He shook his head. "We spoke with our daughter not long after she left this world. We came here to see you."

"Me?"

"Daine was worried about you, she asked us to come check up on you." The Green Lady smiled as she stroked a hand over my hair. "But we've been wanting to meet you for a long time."

I clung to her tightly, my hands grasping fistfuls of the fine material of her dress. "Grandmama always told me about how beautiful you were."

I felt the vibrations of her chuckles bubble up from deep in her throat. "And she told us what a lovely little girl you were growing up to be."

"She also told us you are training to be Shang." Weiryn reached out and touched my hair, almost cautiously, as if he were unused to physical contact. "So I've brought you gift."

I was depressed and heart sore, but I was still only a child, and I brightened instantly at the prospect of a present, loosening my hold on my great grandmother so I could turn and face him. "A gift?"

In his left hand was a longbow that hadn't been there a moment before. It was small, made for a child of my size, and it was of the finest make I had ever seen. The wood was a rich red-brown with elegant designs of vines and leaves craved into the smooth surface. He held it out for me to take, a small smile playing on his lips.

"I gave a bow to my daughter when we first met, and again to your mother. Now I give one to you."

I stared at the weapon in awe, wrapping my fingers around the wood with reverence. "It's beautiful."

"It will grow with you, for a time. When you're grown, I will give you a new one, fit for a warrior." Weiryn chuckled a little as he watched me admire the weapon, treating it as other girls would their most precious porcelain doll.

Without thinking I got up and flung my arms around his neck in a tight hug, startling him and making my great grandmother laugh. He seemed at a loss for what to do for a moment, then relaxed and gently patted my back.

"Thank you, grandfather."

"You're very welcome, Melisande." He smiled as I let him go. "Use it well."

As he was handing me a square of oiled cloth that held spare strings I heard footsteps behind us, and I turned to see my mother standing not ten feet away. She smiled slightly as both gods rose to greet her. "Grandma, Grandda."

"Hello, Nicola." The Green Lady strode forward to envelope my mother in a tight hug, but Weiryn didn't move. I saw my veil and shoes in my mother's hands and moved to hide behind my great grandfather, afraid to face my mother's wrath.

Mama and the Green Lady spoke to each other in soft voices, so I couldn't hear what they where saying. Seeing how fixated I was on my mother's face, fear in my eyes, Weiryn knelt and began instructing me on how to string the bow and keep it clean and oiled. He was telling me things I already knew, but I was grateful for the distraction.

Not long after I saw him look over my head to where Mama stood with the Green Lady, and then he nodded. Standing up, the god of the hunt took my hand and led me over to where they stood. I stayed as close to Weiryn as I could, trying to hide myself behind him to avoid my mother's gaze. He held tight to my hand so I couldn't run away when Mama approached us. I stared down at my feet, waiting for the imminent lecture she would give me for running off and mistreating my fancy clothing, but it never came.

Instead, Mama reached down and took my hand in hers, smiling slightly. Weiryn let go of my other hand and took a step back, nodding to both of us. My great grandmother gave Mama a soft kiss on the cheek and then bent to kiss my brow, smiling warmly at the both of us. "It was wonderful to finally meet you, Melisande. Should you ever need us, you need only to speak our names and we will find you."

I smiled back at her despite myself. "Thank you, grandmother."

Weiryn took his mate's hand and bowed. "We will call on you again. Until then, take care of that bow."

I had to squint my eyes when they disappeared into a bright white light. I kept my head down, once again waiting for my mother's lecture, sure it would come now that my great grandparents were gone. But again I was wrong. Mama simply squeezed my hand and led me back to where Papa was waiting for us. She never mentioned my ruined veil or shoes, or the mud on the hem of my dress. It was if she had never been cross with me, and I had never run off.

We never talked about it. Mother never fully accepted the choices I made that led me down the warrior's path. There were times when she would look at me and I could see it in her eyes, the faint regret and disappointment at what I had become. And I was too much of a coward to confront her about it. Each argument we had over my masculine ways only further convinced me that if I pressed the issue it would create a rift between us that could never be closed. Each time I had an excuse to stay silent. It started with grandmama's death, and every year I found a new reason not to confront her. For the sake of peace in our family, I held my tongue. It was something I would always regret.

* * *

Hi everyone, I'm back. I didn't fall off the face of the planet. I can't tell you how sorry I am that it took me 3 MONTHS to upload this, but to be honest this has to be one of the hardest things I've every had to write. Not only did I have drama at home, graduation, and getting sick every other week, but I had to kill off two of my favorite characters. I know I'm a dork, but… it hurt. I almost cried at a few points. So if it seems awkward or forced at points, I apologize. I really had to push myself towards the end, because it had been so long I almost forgot where I was going with the whole thing.

But I wasn't completely wasting my time. I have been writing the next few chapters in my notebook in school, and thankfully they were much easier to write. So the next few chapters should come fairly soon. And if they don't, you have my full permission to toss me off a cliff. Thank you, and once again I'm very sorry.


	8. Why Play With Dolls When You Have A Swor...

When Donovan first became my teacher, he promised me that when I was older we would travel together, as all Shang do. Even though the idea was exciting to me, I never pressured him about it. My family moved several times a year, from our home in Legann to our Manse in Conté, to the Palace in Corus for Midwinter every year, and to the Yamani Isles once or twice a year. We rarely went anywhere new, but the scenery changed so often that I was content and happy. Roaming off with my teacher was only a vague wish in the back of my mind.  
  
Our first chance to go off like true Shang came two years after Grandmama's death, a few months after my eleventh birthday. We were in Conté when Papa's Second Company was called south to track down a band of raiding centaurs. Mama volunteered to go with them to act as protection against the centaurs' magic. She was having a good year, with only one small cold, and wanted to make the most of it.  
  
Donovan saw his chance. He went to my parents and asked permission to take me with him to Corus. Valorie of Masbolle, the training mistress of the pages and squires in training to be knights, had written a letter to him a few weeks prior, inviting him to come to the Palace. She wanted her pupils to get a taste of a new, completely foreign style of combat, to help them become more resourceful and adaptive in the face of an alien style. Shang warriors learned countless techniques gather from all over the world, while the pages and squires studied to master only one.  
  
My father needed little convincing. He gave his permission almost immediately. The trouble came when they had to decide whether my bodyguards and Miwako would come along as well. I had never gone anywhere without them. Corus wasn't anywhere new or far away, but on this trip I wouldn't be the daughter of Raenef of Conté and the granddaughter of King Roald. I wanted to go simply as Melly, a student of Shang, where people would judge me on my own skill and personality, instead of my pedigree. If the twins and Miwako came along, it would be obvious that I was not a commoner. And as much as I loved them, I wanted to go only as Donovan's student  
  
Adish and Namir, usually two of the most relaxed and fun-loving people I knew, were solemn and grave when speaking to my parents and Donovan. Protecting me was something they never joked about. Miwako, while worried about me, understood my reason for wanting to go without them. She sided with Donovan, supporting him as he pleaded his case to my very skeptical parents and two bodyguards who were as stubborn as mules.  
  
I wasn't present for the conversation, but Katla and Somerled were. They were both old now, and spent their days lying on the plush carpet in Papa's study. I sat in my room as the hounds relayed the conversation to me, holding the light crystal Mama had given me in my lap.  
  
"Lord Raenef, if something happened to Melly and we weren't there to protect her, I'd never forgive myself." That was Namir, according to Somerled.  
  
"I understand your fears, my boy, but I believe my presence alone would be more than enough to protect Melly." Katla moved over to lay at Donovan's feet to compensate for her failing hearing. "We're only going to Corus."  
  
"I must agree with Donovan on this one." Somerled had trouble making out Miwako's words through her thick accent. "I'm as worried about letting her go off without us as you are, but Melly needs this. If she goes she'll be a normal girl, instead of nobility. There are girls training to be knights as well as boys; it would be good for her to see that she's not the only girl who plays with blades and armor instead of dolls and dresses."  
  
Adish began to speak, but suddenly our connection was severed. I jumped involuntarily at the abrupt disappearance of the hounds' presences. Mama had caught on to my snooping and put a stop to it, as she often did. What was said after that would forever be a mystery to me.  
  
But whatever it was that Donovan and Miwako told them, it worked. My parents gave their consent for us to leave for Corus, and Miwako and the twins would remain in Conté. I would miss them, but I was excited to be off on the road with Donovan like a true Shang.

* * *

It took us four long days of riding to reach the capitol, but we did not enter the city until the fifth day. I had never ridden through the market before. The streets were filled to bursting with people. I had never seen so many people in one place, and the cacophony of their voices nearly overwhelmed me. My pony, a gelding named Jordi, was as unaccustomed to crowds as I was and it was making him very nervous. He walked as closely behind Donovan's mare as he possibly could, his nose brushing against her rump every time she was forced to stop to avoid trampling someone.  
  
There was so much to see. The vendors were selling anything and everything you could think of. They haggled tirelessly with customers, using words like a finely sharpened blade. Our pace was slow at best. I could see a few others on horses having the same problem trying to navigate through the sea of bodies. I turned my head back and forth, trying to see it all at once but only managed to make myself look entirely foolish.  
  
Donovan laughed when he looked back at me. "Close your mouth, girl. You're catching flies."  
  
I stuck my tongue out at him and was about to call him something very rude, but I was suddenly distracted by the touch of ghostly fingers at my belt. For a moment I was unsure if it was real, but they persisted, searching slowly for a coin purse or valuables in my pocket.  
  
Without hesitation I turned in the saddle, my hand darting out to grab my would-be robber by the wrist. They were quick, trying to duck away into the crowd, but I was quicker. Using a hold Donovan had taught me, I dug two fingers into the soft skin of his wrist between the two bones and pressed my thumb hard into the same spot on the back. I was immediately rewarded by a loud cry of pain.  
  
Turning in the saddle, I looked down into two indignant eyes of bright blue. It was a boy only a few years my senior, with an unruly mess of dirty blond hair that fell over his eyes and the tan common to those who spent long hours in the sun. He was tall and ridiculously thin, his arms and legs seeming to have outgrown his body. He wore a well worn pair of breeches and nothing but a brown vest that needed mending,  
  
He grabbed my wrist with his free hand, trying to yank himself free. "Oy, leggo o'me 'and, y'scrawny piece o'crow bait." He spoke with the thick, rough accent from the slums of Corus, but his voice was incredibly deep, and it made me wonder where it could come from in such a skinny body.  
  
I tightened my grip and he cried out again, letting go of my wrist. Donovan had used the grip on me once to demonstrate, so I knew how much it hurt, but any pity I might have felt was erased by his anger. Hadn't he been the one trying to pick my pocket?  
  
"Melly," Donovan's voice held a hint of warning. "Let him go."  
  
I scowled, and instead of letting go I tightened my grip even further. "Perhaps next time you should think more carefully before slipping your hands into places they don't belong."  
  
He grunted and tried to pull away again, still cringing in pain. I would've held on longer, but I saw Donovan's disapproving frown and squeezed one last time before letting go. The boy clutched his wrist and an oath that I had heard many times before in the barracks of the Own, then quickly fled, but not before shooting me a look of pure venom.  
  
When I looked up at my teacher, the disapproving frown had been replaced by a bemused smile. I scowled. "You knew he was there, didn't you?"  
  
"Of course I did."  
  
"You're a rotten bastard, you know that?" I said. At times like these without my parents around, I tended to swear quite a bit, but Donovan never paid it any mind.  
  
He laughed. "Maybe. But there was never anything to worry about. I have the money. And I wanted to see if you would notice he was there."  
  
I stuck my tongue out at him. "You should've been the Shang Weasel."  
  
"What makes you think I wasn't?" He asked. "I wasn't always the Gryphon."  
  
I laughed despite my ire. He grinned at me, then turned back around in his saddle and urged his mare forward. Once we cleared the market, it wasn't long until we reached the Palace gates. I was excited, but very nervous. How would the group of elite young nobles treat a "commoner" that was suddenly thrown into the crowd? The worst thing they could do was ignore me, but I prayed that a few would accept me for my merits. That was my entire reason for being there.

* * *

Valorie of Masbolle was a tall, sturdily built woman with a welcoming smile that helped ease the churning nerves in my stomach. She wore simple working clothes and boots, her shoulder length gray-streaked hair pulled back into a tail at the nape of her neck. When she shook my hand I could feel heavy calluses from years of handling weapons, much like the state of my own hands. I'd heard Miwako say it, but it wasn't until I saw it with my own two eyes that I could believe that there were women like me who shunned the old ways and lived as warriors.  
  
"Master Donovan, thank you for coming." She spoke with a voice that was warm and deep. "They've just returned from lunch."  
  
"They finished their studies for the day, haven't they?" He asked.  
  
"Yes, so you don't have to sit through that mess, gods be praised." She said, then laughed at my shocked expression. "Not all of us are gifted scholars. I've always hated books." I couldn't help but smile back. The more she said, the more I liked her. She was just like me.  
  
Valorie led us to a large training yard behind the student's wing. A large group was gathered along the fences, ranging in age from my age to around sixteen, although I spotted a few squires in the crowd who could've been even older. After a moment I realized that at least a third of them were girls, most of them with short hair like mine. They mingled effortlessly with the boys, joking and laughing as if it were perfectly natural for them to here, learning to fight. My heart sang as I watched them.  
  
Valorie's booming voice cut their conversations short and brought them all to attention. "Alright, my young pups, play time's over!"  
  
"When did it begin?" Asked an anonymous voice from somewhere in the crowd, earning laughter from the students.  
  
The training mistress herself could help but smile. "Very funny." She stepped to the side and ushered Donovan forward. I followed, suddenly afraid to be separated from the only person I knew in this place. I wasn't used to being around so many people, and it made me nervous.  
  
"Good afternoon," Donovan bowed slightly to the gathered adolescents. "As you all know, I am Donovan Steelwind, the Gryphon of Shang."  
  
He smiled and turned slightly to pull me forward. "This is my student, Melly. She will be assisting me in my instruction."  
  
When their collective attention shifted completely to me, I felt the sudden, nearly overwhelming urge to go hide in the stables. Some of them didn't bother with even a glance, but most looked at me with good-natured curiosity and some even smiled. Not knowing what else to do, I did my best to smile back and clasped my hands behind my back to keep them from trembling.  
  
Donovan put a hand on my shoulder and I relaxed a little, reassured by his presence next to me. He knew I wasn't accustomed to being around so many strangers.  
  
"Lady Valorie, might I ask what you've been studying this week?" He asked. Their focus returned to him, and I suppressed a sigh of relief.  
  
"It's still near the beginning of the year, so we're still on the quarterstaff. A review for everyone but the first years." She said. "What do you have in mind?"  
  
"Could you run them through a drill, so I can see what we're working with?" He asked, walking over to a barrel next to the fence that held the quarterstaffs. He picked one up to test its weight.  
  
"Of course." She said brightly. Turning, she sent her students scurrying with her booming shout. "Grab your weapons and line up, you little snots!"  
  
I sat on the fence to watch as she led them through a fast but basic drill. She reminded me of the officers of the Own. They put on a tough front, calling the troops names and shouting orders fiercely. But if one of the men faltered or was struggling with the task, they instantly dropped the act and helped their troops without hesitation. As I watched the lesson, I noticed Valorie doing the same thing, always ready to help one of the pages with a stance or maneuver they had trouble with. I felt my respect for her grow tremendously as I watched, and I couldn't help but smile as my nervousness slowly began to ebb away.  
  
This won't be so bad, I thought to myself.

* * *

After the first warm-up drill the group separated into two groups, the squires going off with the fourth year pages while the rest stayed with Valorie for another, more complex drill that involved pairing off and trading mock blows. I followed Donovan and the older students, painfully aware that I was the youngest child in the group. But at least I didn't look it; I silently blessed Grandpapa Numair for granting me my unusual height. I stood as tall, if not taller than, most of the fourth years and even matched one or two of the squires. It helped me relax, a little.  
  
Donovan picked up a quarterstaff and regarded his audience. "Find a partner and line up. I want to see how you handle yourselves without someone to follow."  
  
They were eager to comply, finding partners and lining up with more efficiency than I would've expected from a group of headstrong youths. Donovan had them form into a wide circle, and one by one he let each pair free spar, complimenting their strengths and gently offering advice where they lacked. It was a lengthy process, but I noticed that as time went by the squires and pages grew more relaxed and accepted his advice more readily. It hadn't occurred to me that just as I was intimidated by them, they would be intimidated by Donovan and his station as an immortal Shang.  
  
A few in particular caught my eye. A young squire, lacking a badge on her arm and most likely in her first year, was exceptionally quick and adaptive. Like me, she was tall and thin, with a long golden braid and bright blue eyes that made it obvious that she came from the far north, most likely close to the Scanran border. She had a quick smile and a bright laugh, readily listening Donovan's advice and immediately putting it to use against her partner. When her turn was up, she identified herself as Gwenna of Northwatch, a first-year squire who'd yet to be chosen by a knight.  
  
Another drew my attention, this time a fourth-year page. His unruly short hair was dark brown, and his eyes were an even darker brown, filled with curiosity and eagerness to learn. What made me notice him, though, was the fact that he obviously had Yamani blood in him. His wide eyes were slightly slanted, his nose smaller and flatter than the typical Tortallan, and his tan skin was the distinct olive complexion associated with the Isles. He was very thin and a little awkward, probably in the middle of a growth spurt, but he still managed himself pretty well in his spar. When Donovan asked his name, he turned out to be Sorata, second son of Hiroyuki of Queenscove, the Royal Physician.  
  
I watched each one carefully, noting their strengths and weaknesses silently and storing them away for later reference. I knew that in the course of the week I would probably have to spar more than one of them, and watching them now would give me an insight into their knowledge of one-on- one combat, which would be a great advantage for me. It was one of the first lessons Donovan had taught me: Knowing how an opponent worked would tip the scales in your favor if you used the knowledge right.  
  
Besides, I hated losing.  
  
A small obstacle came when we discovered there was an odd number, leaving the last squire without a partner. A small knot formed in my stomach when Donovan turned and beckoned, placing a staff in my hands with an encouraging smile.  
  
The squire was a young man who stood a head taller than me, most likely in his second year. He reminded me of Donovan, tall and dark, moving with catlike grace. Half of his shoulder length black hair was tied back in a short horsetail to keep it clear of his face. His skin was naturally tan, and his eyes were a deep, piercing black. When he turned his intense gaze to me it was hard not to fidget under his scrutiny, but I managed somehow, clinging to my staff with a white-knuckled grip.  
  
Donovan nodded to the boy. "What's your name, son?"  
  
He bowed slightly to my teacher. When he spoke, his voice was a pleasant midrange, and his words were so soft that I had to struggle to hear them. "Eyvind of Tirragen, Master Shang. I am here with my knight master, Sir Padriac."  
  
I looked at the badge on the arm of his tunic and immediately recognized the crest of GoldenLake. He must be special, I thought, to have been chosen by such a reputable knight.  
  
"Sir," one of the squires stepped forward with a raised hand. "Isn't this pairing a bit unfair? Eyvind is one of our best, and with all due respect your student is rather young to be set against him."  
  
Donovan nodded, politely acknowledging his words but of course paying them no heed. "And your name is?"  
  
"Heath of Kennan, Master Shang." He bowed respectfully.  
  
"Well, Master Heath, I understand your skepticism, but I assure you that Melly is more than a match for any one of you. I may be biased, but I say this objectively. I've seen her spar against veteran soldiers and hold her own, and sometimes she even wins." He grinned, flashing white teeth. "We are Shang, Master Heath. Age is of little circumstance."  
  
I couldn't hide my blush, hearing Donovan openly praise me in front of so many strangers. But I knew he wasn't bragging. I often trained with the men of the Own, and that year I had started sparring with them to practice my spear and sword work. I could hold my own with a sword for a good period of time, but usually ended up losing because of their superior strength and heavier swords. But with a spear, or hand to hand, I could match and best many of them. I was smaller, and I would never be as strong as a man, but I was fast, and years of tumbling training had given me uncommon agility.  
  
But by the looks of Eyvind of Tirragen, he was fast too, built with a long, slender but muscular frame. And not only that, but I was certain that he was much stronger than me. If I left him get too close, he could end the match simply by brute force.  
  
The youth named Heath bowed again and stepped back, but I could still see doubt on his face, mirrored on the faces of many of his companions. My blush faded and I set my jaw. I had a good chance at besting any one of them, especially in hand-to-hand combat. I hated being underestimated. Now I would show this pompous city boy just what it meant to be Shang.  
  
On Donovan's mark, we bowed to each other then assumed our stances. I recognized his immediately; it was the same stance my father used in his spars with Donovan. The technique of knights had changed little.  
  
I fought the urge to grin as I took my own stance, standing up straight and bringing my left leg up and bending it at the knee so my left foot nearly touched my right knee. I knew Donovan would scold me later for being so cocky, but my naturally competitive nature overwhelmed my reason. This technique required an excellent sense of balance, which I knew I had, and I had practiced it many times with Donovan. It was really meant to be used with a sword, but Donovan had taught me early on how to adapt one technique so it could be applied to almost any weapon. If I executed everything correctly, I would be able to deflect his blows and retaliate instantly with swift kicks from my upraised leg.  
  
Turning so I was almost sideways, I held my right arm up and back, keeping my left level in front of my face so my staff slanted down at a sharp angle in front of me. As I heard murmurs of confusion from our audience, I saw a glint in Eyvind's black eyes, and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. Like me, he enjoyed a challenge.  
  
I didn't wait for his attack, stepping forward quickly to flick the butt of my spear under his. It caught him by surprise, and one hand lost its grip and the spear dropped. With his guard wide open, I landed three quick blows to his side and shoulder, not bothering to check the force of my swing. He was wearing a padded shirt underneath his tunic, like all the squires and pages. But I wasn't, and I didn't know if he would bother checking his own blows. If he didn't and managed to land a good hit, I would spend the rest of the week sitting on the fence with broken bones.  
  
He surprised and impressed me by recovering quickly, swinging his staff low at my feet while still only holding it in one hand. Instead of jumping over it, which he obviously wanted me to do, I jabbed my staff down to block his blow. But instead of stopping it completely, I angled the shaft so it kept going, then knocked it back, using his own momentum to sending it straight for his face.  
  
He avoided a broken nose by simply catching it with his free hand, and when he looked at me his smile had widened and his eyes were full of respect. I couldn't help but smile back.  
  
Then it was his turn to attack and my prediction proved correct: he was fast, incredibly so. But I was faster.  
  
We traded blows, blocking and dodging in one of the fastest fights I'd ever been in. Adrenaline pumped through me as I matched his speed and surpassed it, driving him back with a rapid series of swings and jabs. But he countered my speed with his strength, which was far superior to my own, knocking my staff away and quickly stepping forward to close the gap between us. As I had feared, he was going to try to use his size and power to win, now that he knew he couldn't match my speed.  
  
I did my best to keep him as far as I could. I kept my odd stance, because it allowed me to deflect his blows and then strike back quickly with either my staff or my foot. I gave him two solid kicks to the gut before he shifted his guard to accommodate my attacks. When I could no longer get a good kick through, I used my foot to capture his staff, stepping down with my free foot as hard as I could and trapping it. Before he could react I landed a quick hit to his hip and another to his knee.  
  
Before he could parry, I stepped back and out of his range. I was determined to keep him from landing a hit. Not because I wanted to upstage him, but simply because I was completely unprotected against the force of his weapon. But he got alarmingly close a good many times. I avoided many by dropping low to the ground, one leg out and the other bent as low as it could so my face was inches from the hard-packed dirt. In those cases I kept my staff behind my back, so it would block any downward swing he sent after me, even though it jarred my arms all the way to my collar bone when his hits collided with the wood.  
  
I was grinning now, and so was he, and it was hard not to laugh. I couldn't remember having so much fun in a spar before. I always enjoyed my mock fights with Donovan and the twins, but they tended to be rather one sided. I was smaller and weaker than them, and they had far more experience than this boy. This match wasn't a hopeless cause, this was a challenge.  
  
I loved every moment of it.  
  
A fine layer of sweat covered my skin, and even more rolled down my back and dripped from my brow. My short cropped hair began to cling to my chin and forehead, but I managed to keep it from my eyes by shaking my head whenever I could. Eyvind was in a similar state, but he'd had the sense to tie back his hair before he started. When he noticed I was struggling to keep my vision clear, he began to press forward, making it harder and harder for me to avoid getting hit and keep my hair from my eyes. Soon my movements were entirely defensive.  
  
Finally, it got so bad that I had to shake my head over and over to get my hair from my eyes. Eyvind saw his chance and took it, bringing his staff down in powerful blow that was sure to end the fight.  
  
I narrowly avoided getting smacked in the face by the butt of his weapon. I stepped back as quickly as I could and brought my staff up to block his swing. But instead of blocking it, my staff split in two in a sudden burst of splinters that embedded themselves into my hands and forearms. His staff continued downward to land solidly on my upraised left leg, sending a thunderbolt of pain racing through me.  
  
I bit down on my lip to muffle my cry of pain, my balance faltering until I had to put my leg down and stand on both feet, sending another lance of agony up my left leg. Eyvind began to step back and lowered his weapon, obviously considering the match won.  
  
His thoughts were painfully predictable for a sheltered noble. My weapon was broken, so according to the rules of a duel he had one. But I was Shang, and I was learning to use anything and everything as a weapon. I still had the two halves of my staff.  
  
I bolted forward, ignoring the screaming pain in my left leg and the stinging splinters in my hands. With my two new, significantly shorter weapons, I knocked the staff clear out of his hands and caught him completely by surprise. Eyvind could only blink in shock as I dropped the left half and grabbed his arm, jerking it back and up behind his back at a painful but safe angle. I used that arm to pull him down, and the great gap between our heights forced him down to his knees to keep himself from falling over completely. My right arm went around his shoulders, pulling him hard against me so I could hold him immobile while the remaining half pressed against his throat like a dagger. I was much weaker than him, but if he tried to move I could still easily break his arm.  
  
After a brief struggle against my grip, he relaxed, conceding defeat. I had won.  
  
I saw his mouth lift into a smile as he turned his head slightly to look at me. "Well played, little Shang."  
  
Up close, his black eyes burned intensely. Despite his friendly smile it was still very unnerving. I held on for a moment longer, just to make sure it was truly over, but then I quickly stepped away and dropped the shortened staff. When he got to his feet and turned to face me, I quickly ducked into a stiff Yamani bow, letting my hair fall forward to hide the blush on my cheeks.  
  
The rest of the world came rushing back, and I realized that our audience had grown considerably, and they were clapping. I straightened up and looked around. Valorie and the younger pages had come to watch sometime during our fight, and they were very impressed.  
  
My blush hadn't faded, but now they wouldn't think anything of it. Of course a country bumpkin like me would blush under such attention. Or at least that's what I hoped they were thinking.  
  
In truth, the real cause was Eyvind, who was still staring at me. It was almost as if his eyes were burning straight through me. I quickly averted my gaze, managing a somewhat uneasy smile as I was surrounded by pages and squires eager to offer their praise.  
  
"That was incredible, Melly!" The boy with Yamani blood, Sorata, grabbed my hand and shook it enthusiastically. "I've never seen anyone fight like that!"  
  
That made me laugh. "Just wait till you see Donovan."  
  
A young page clapped a hand on my back, smiling brightly. "It was amazing. I never thought I'd see anyone beat Eyvind like that," she said.  
  
I blushed. "Thank you," I replied, then winced at how ridiculously timid I sounded.  
  
"Mistress Shang," a voice called from behind me. I turned to find a red- headed young man offering me his hand. After a brief moment I identified him as Heath of Kennan, the one who had questioned my ability to put a good fight against Eyvind.  
  
When I reached out to accept his handshake, he put his other hand over both of ours, smiling warmly. "I was wrong to underestimate you so. I hope you accept this fool's apology."  
  
I could see that he was sincere, so I smiled back and bowed slightly. "It's all right. If anything I fought better because I wanted to prove you wrong."  
  
He laughed and let go of my hand with one last friendly squeeze. Despite his good intentions, his grip made my hand scream, and I remembered the dozens of scrapes and small splinters that still covered them. Looking down, I saw blood smeared over the pale skin of my hands and forearms. They were anything but serious, but they stung like the blazes.  
  
Thinking about my hands made me remember my leg. Nothing was broken, but surely by now my left thigh was one great bruise. It would have to be treated if I wanted to continue to participate in these exercises. I excused myself and limped over to the barrel of water kept for drinking during breaks in training. Dipping the ladle in, I poured the cool water over my bloody hands, washing most of it away so I could get a better look. There weren't many splinters, and the cuts were shallow. Easy enough to mend.  
  
That taken care of, I filled the ladle again and this time drank the water down, the water hitting my empty stomach like a kick in the gut, but also bringing sweet relief from the heat.  
  
A shadow appeared next to me, and without looking I handed the ladle to Eyvind, keeping my eyes locked on the water in the barrel. I was too afraid to look at him, although I wasn't entirely sure why.  
  
When he'd drank his full I helped myself to another ladle of water. I was still very hot and sweaty, and it was hard to keep my breathing even. Throwing manners to the wind, I grabbed the rim of the barrel and quickly plunged my head into the water. When I pulled up, my hair was soaked with cool water and it ran down my back and chest, and I was suddenly much cooler.  
  
I realized suddenly that what I had done was rather rude, so I turned to apologize to Eyvind. I was immediately hit with a spray of water as he followed my lead, dunking his head in the barrel and then letting the water drip down from his hair.  
  
He laughed at my wide eyed stare. "It seemed like a good idea. I don't think anyone will mind."  
  
I smiled back. After brief consideration, I held out a hand to him. "Thank you for the spar. It was the most fun I've ever had training."  
  
He accepted my grip. "You're very welcome, little Shang. But I would think living with the Gryphon would give you many opportunities to fight against a much better warrior than myself."  
  
I shrugged my shoulders sheepishly, pushing my dripping hair back off my face. "Well the problem with him is that he's too good. I'm still a novice, and I'm much smaller than him. It's kind of a lost cause trying to win against him. I don't get many chances to fight people closer to my size and age."  
  
"And exactly how old are you?" He asked.  
  
"How old do I look?"  
  
"Thirteen, maybe fourteen."  
  
I laughed. "I'm twelve."  
  
His eyes widened in disbelief. "Twelve?"  
  
I nodded. "I'm just tall for my age."  
  
"Well now I'm even more impressed," he said, making me blush again.  
  
"Excuse me, please." He stepped back and quickly pulled his tunic up over his head and hung it on the fence, and then he started working his way out of the padded shirt all of the students wore. It hadn't occurred to me that with that on it was even hotter, and I could only wonder how he hadn't passed out by now.  
  
I looked away, turning my gaze to the group of students milling around Donovan and Valorie. This was nothing new, men in the Own often worked without their shirts, but for some reason I was suddenly very uncomfortable being so close to him. But I forgot my discomfort when I saw the bruises on his sides and arms.  
  
"I'm sorry if I hurt you," I said. "I'm not used to pulling my punches."  
  
He waved my apology away and smiled. "It's alright, nothing's bleeding or broken. I get bruises in training all the time."  
  
When he mentioned bleeding I looked at my hands, which were again covered lightly in blood. Light red welts stood out in sharp contrast with my fair skin, and the shallow scratches still bled a little. I would have to pull the splinters out soon.  
  
He followed my gaze and frowned. Reaching out, he took my hands gently and examined them closely. "Did I do this?"  
  
I shook my head. "It's nothing. I just got a little scratched up when my staff broke. Don't worry about it."  
  
He looked at me skeptically, but I just smiled and pulled my hands away. It looked like he was going to say something more about it, but Valorie's voice cut him off.  
  
"Eyvind, come over here and listen to what Master Donovan has to say."  
  
Sighing lightly, he grabbed his tunic and pulled it over his head. With a slight bow to me, he turned and jogged over to join his classmates. I caught Donovan's eye and waved towards the building, telling him that I was going to take care of my hands. He nodded once, and then returned to his lecture.  
  
Normally I would have stayed to listen, but I had heard most of what he was saying many times before. He'd taught me to go over a fight in my head and pick out the mistakes and things I could've improved upon. As I limped up the hill to the Palace, I mentally went over the match again and again, picking out my own faults as well as Eyvind's. I'd wasted too much energy avoiding getting hit, and I knew I'd hear of it later from Donovan. I decided to ask Lady Valorie to borrow one of the padded shirts so I wouldn't have to do that again.  
  
The training mistress had arranged for us to stay in the wing that was kept for the servants of nobles visiting the Palace. Half the rooms were empty, but in a month they would be almost entirely full as more and more nobles coming to stay for the winter parties arrived. I grabbed fresh clothes from my pack and then made my way down to the servant baths. I was too hot too stay in the steaming water for long, but after sweating so hard I desperately needed to wash.  
  
There wasn't much time left until dinner would be served around the Palace, so the baths were almost deserted. There was no one to stare as I picked the miniscule splinters from my hands. My left thigh was covered by an ugly mess of blue, purple and black, and it was difficult to walk more than a few steps. My hands I could take care of myself, but I'd have to see a healer to fix my leg.  
  
I felt much better after I was clean and in fresh clothes. I heard the bell ringing to announce the evening meal, and limped as fast as I could to the mess hall. Donovan was already seated at the table atop the dais at the front of the room, but I didn't fancy sitting up there where everyone could stare at me. After I got my food I would have to look for an empty table.  
  
The fare served to the trainees was good, but not to my taste. I didn't have much of a stomach for the rich foods of Tortall. I preferred the spicy foods from the Yamani Isles, Carthak and the Copper Isles that Cook always served at dinner. But I wasn't about to ask the cooks here to make something different just for me. I loaded my tray with fruit and bread, avoiding the gravy covered meat and potatoes. The servers insisted I take some meat, so I chose the smallest piece I could find and limped off to find my own table.  
  
A voice stopped me from going very far. "Melly, over here!"  
  
When I turned, I saw Sorata of Queenscove waving me over to his table. He was sitting at the squires tables with a girl and two other boys. I hesitated when I realized one of them was Eyvind, but I didn't know how to refuse and be polite, so I gave in and took a seat next to Sorata.  
  
"We haven't been properly introduced," he said, his voice full of cheer and energy. "I'm Sorata of Queenscove, but you can just call me Sora."  
  
He turned to the girl and two boys sitting across from him. "This is Gwenna of Northwatch, Heath of Kennan, and you already know Eyvind."  
  
I smiled at them, my earlier shyness returning with a vengeance. They were all older than me, and as far as they knew I was a commoner. We didn't have much in common.  
  
Except for Sora. I looked at him and spoke in Yamani. "Where did you get your Yamani blood from?"  
  
His eyes lit up, and when he replied his words were perfect, but he did have a rather noticeable accent. "My grandmother, Yukimi. You speak Yamani?"  
  
"Yes. My grandmother is also from the Isles, and my father taught me the language." I glanced at the others. I could tell from their puzzled looks that they didn't understand what we were saying, so I took advantage of it. "Tell me, the dark one, Eyvind, does he always stare at people so?"  
  
Sora laughed, and our companions looked even more confused. "Yes, don't let it bother you. You stop noticing it after awhile."  
  
I nodded, glancing at Eyvind. He must have heard me say his name, because one brow was raised in inquiry. But I was saved from having to explain when Lady Valorie called us all to stand for the blessing. After that, everyone was too busy eating to talk.  
  
I ignored the meat on my plate, demolishing one roll and then another before grabbing an apple. Mama often told me I ate too fast, and Namir and Adish said it was like a pig going after slop, but I was hungry and didn't care about being ladylike. And even though I ate fast, I was neat.  
  
Gwenna grinned at me over her potatoes. "How can you eat like that?"  
  
"Complete focus," I said with mock seriousness. "Otherwise you end up inhaling your food."  
  
Heath surveyed the food I'd heaped on to my tray and asked. "Can you really eat all that?"  
  
I nodded. "I wouldn't have taken it if I couldn't eat it."  
  
Gwenna looked a little puzzled. "But you're so thin! Where does it all go?"  
  
I shrugged. "I use up a lot of energy. And I'm rather stupid so I wouldn't be surprised if there's a lot of empty space up there." I grinned and tapped my forehead.  
  
They all laughed, and I found myself laughing with them. Glancing up at the dais, I found Donovan watching me with a soft smile on his lips. I smiled back.  
  
As I lay myself to bed that night, my mind was buzzing with thoughts of tomorrow.

* * *

So I said the next few chapters would come fairly soon. Turns out I jinxed myself. I lost my notebook. I don't know if I left it at school or my cat ate it or what, but I'm rather upset. So I skipped one of the chapters I had planned and moved straight to this. This part of the story will take up the next few chapters, and so far it's been really easy to write. I'm writing from memory of what I had in my notebook but also adding and changing things so it's even better now. (In my opinion.) Now that I have everything set up like I want it, the plot's going to open up a lot more, so stay tuned.  
  
Lol I don't know who I'm talking to, nobody reads this but my sister. (No I'm not begging for attention or reassurance, I promise )  
  
Au revoir. 


	9. New Friends

The ringing of the Palace bells woke me just as the sun peaked over the horizon. I rolled over and reached for Katla, who always slept beside me while Somerled lay across my legs. But she wasn't there. Opening my eyes, I found myself in an unfamiliar bed. Across the dimly lit room Donovan lay on his back, his breathing deep and even. How he managed to keep sleeping through the cacophony of the bells was a mystery to me.

The first rays of the sun began to seep through the window, casting soft lines of light on the stone floor. I glanced around the unknown room, and my heart began to race. The black shadows in the corners of the room began to overwhelm the sun's fledgling rays and close in on me. I threw myself from the bed without bothering to untangle myself from the sheets and landed hard on the stone floor. As I searched frantically for my pack, panic began to set in as the darkness enveloped me.

But then my hands found the leather straps and I pulled it from beneath the bed, quickly upturning it and dumping its contents on the floor. The familiar, comforting light of Mama's crystal drove away the shadows as I snatched it up and held it tightly to my chest. I willed myself to breathe slowly, and pulled myself back onto the bed.

As I calmed I remembered where I was and why. This was the room Donovan and I had given in one of the servant wings attached to the Royal Palace. I chided myself for my irrational reaction, but the fear didn't leave my heart until the sun rose higher and its light filled the little room.

Donovan woke soon after to find me still sitting in bed with the crystal in my lap. He looked at me once, and then at my steadily burning light, and said nothing. When I was well and truly calm, he walked with me to the baths so we could wash before breakfast.

* * *

This time it was Gwenna who sought me out and led me to their table; she seemed to be the only one who was truly awake. She smiled brightly and bid me good morning, but all I got from Heath and Sora were half-hearted grunts as they hunched over their porridge.

"Are they always like this?" I asked.

"Always." She smiled. "They lack our natural resilience and fortitude."

Her joke roused Heath momentarily from his half-sleep stupor. "Shove it."

A hand touched my shoulder and I looked up to see Eyvind of Tirragen smiling down at me. "Mind if I sit?"

"It's your table."

He grinned and set down his tray, taking a seat on the bench next to me. While he didn't seem as energetic and alert as Gwenna and I, he at least was more responsive than the two grumbling automatons across the table. After Lady Valorie stood and said the blessing, Sora and Heath began to shovel their porridge into their mouths and didn't spare us a second glance, while Gwenna and Eyvind supplied friendly conversation.

"How'd you sleep?" She asked me, liberally spreading honey over her thick porridge.

"Well enough," I said. "But I had something of a start when I woke up and didn't remember where I was."

"I would think you'd be used to sleeping in strange places," she remarked. "Don't Shang travel a lot?"

I was sure to word my answer carefully to avoid further questions. "We travel, but not nearly as much as most Shang. Donovan's not much of a wanderer."

Eyvind waited to finish chewing before he asked. "Are there certain places you stay?"

"We spend a lot of time in Port Legann," I replied. It wasn't a lie; it just wasn't the whole truth. "And we visit the Yamani Isles once a year or so."

There was a lapse in our conversation as we concentrated on our meals. I devoured one apple, and then began on another before I carefully diverted the topic away from my living conditions. "Gwenna, you're a first year squire, right?"

She nodded and patted her tunic over her shoulder; the fabric was still bare, without a crest that would identify her as the student of a knight. "That's why I don't have a knight master yet. It's only the beginning of the season, so most of the new squires are still here at the Palace. But a few like Eyvind got lucky and were chosen over the summer."

I looked at the crest of Golden Lake where it was sewn onto the sleeve of his tunic, then up at him. "You're only a first year?"

"I am," he said. "My father and Sir Padriac are good friends, so I already had a foot in the door when it came to being chosen."

"Shouldn't you be out with your knight master, then?" I asked.

"My lord's gentle wife is with child, and due to deliver very soon. He's going to stay here so he can be with her when the time comes, and we probably won't leave until after Midwinter." He smiled. "And since he's busy attending his lady, I get to stay here with my friends."

I nodded and returned to my apple. Vaguely I wondered about what it would be like to be a squire. If I had chosen this path, instead of the way of Shang, what would my life be like now? When I became a squire, who would have been my knight master? I pushed those thoughts away; lingering on the "what if's" of life would do my no good.

After breakfast the pages and squires returned to their rooms. If I remembered what Papa had told me correctly, now was the time for study and pursuits of the mind. Donovan told me I could have the morning to myself, and followed Lady Valorie to observe the classes.

At first I simply explored, wandering through the dorms and making friends with the resident rat-catchers. I walked through the training courts and visited the stables to introduce myself to the horses. I found my new friends' mounts, all beautiful and intelligent animals, but one could expect little else for the well bred children of Tortall's most influential noble families. My pony, Jordi, had been given an empty stall at the far end, and was happily chewing on oats when I found him.

_I deserve some rest,_ he said haughtily. _After that mess you put me through I think I should have the week off._

I scratched his nose and laughed. _If I let you rest after every little thing you call a mess you'd grow fat and sluggish as an ill-bred mule._

_Nonsense,_ he huffed.

I enjoyed myself in the stables, but it still left me with much of the morning to go. I didn't let myself wander past the page's wing, afraid I'd run into Uncle Jonathan or one of my cousins. As luck would have it, my eldest cousin Liam was up north with his knight master, Sir Wilhelm of Naxen. His younger brother Samuel had opted to train in the City of the Gods in the Mithran Cloisters instead of joining the knighthood, and his youngest brother Roald wouldn't be a page for another year. Uncle Conner's eldest daughter, Lianne, was also a squire and the last I'd heard of her was that she was somewhere south with her mistress, Lady Theresa of Cavall. His son, Cormac, was due to be a page this year but he wouldn't arrive from Conté for another two weeks. I wondered perhaps if Lady Valorie had waited until she knew my cousins would be gone before she'd invited Donovan and me to visit.

Aside from my family I only had to be on the look out for Lady Elaine of Port Legann, and her daughters Bethany and Ellen. Lady Elaine was my father's best friend, and she often invited us to dinner or went hunting with my father when we were staying in Legann. Beth was a squire, but I couldn't remember the name of her knight master, and Ellen was to "come out" this fall so there was a good possibility she was in the Palace. All three of them would recognize me on sight. So just to be safe I gave the rest of the Palace a wide berth.

* * *

Finally boredom set in and I returned to my room to retrieve my bow. A few weeks ago while practicing with my father I had clustered my arrows in the center of the target, and then actually sent one arrow straight through another, splitting it in half. Papa had been so proud of me he'd taken the two arrows and put them on the wall of his study. Now I'd see if I could do it again.

I was trained to shoot crossbows, recurved bows and the oddly lopsided Yamani bows, but I was best with the long bow my great grandfather had given me three years ago. I was big enough now that it was just the right size for me and it balanced perfectly in my hand.

When I found the outside archery range used by the squires and pages I took a quiver of arrows from one of the racks and set myself at one end of the range. I braced my feet, knocked the arrow, and drew.

I shot slower than usual, carefully sighting down the shaft and trying to overlap it with the arrow I'd already set in the center. It thudded into the target less than a finger width from my first arrow. I drew again.

Despite my best efforts and patience I couldn't put one arrow into another. I knew the first time I'd done it was probably a fluke, but it was fun to try it again. Practicing with my bow calmed me and helped clear my mind. Donovan liked to say it was my own style of meditation.

I emptied my quiver into the center of the target, with only two of the twelve arrows outside the center mark. I lowered my bow, and suddenly I heard soft applause from behind.

I turned to find Gwenna, Eyvind, Heath and a new squire sitting on the benches behind me. They grinned at my surprise and quickly cross the room to join me.

"Did Donovan teach you to shoot like that as well?" Heath asked.

I shrugged and took a line from one of Grandmama's stories. "I've always been a fair shot."

The new girl looked over my shoulder at the target. "That's more than fair, I'd say."

I regarded her closely. She was tall and muscular, but was also well curved. Her red-gold hair was cut severely short, much like I wished I could cut mine. Her clothes were smeared with dust and her boots were coated with mud, showing that she'd been traveling earlier in the day. She was a year or so older than Gwenna and Eyvind, by my guess. She spoke and moved with a great deal of confidence, but I didn't sense any arrogance. The patch on her arm held the family crest of Meron, the family that ruled the great southern city of Persopolis. She smiled at me jovially, blue eyes twinkling as she held out a hand to me.

"Hello," she said, her voice bright and musical with a hint of a northern accent. "I'm Rispah of Trebond. You must be Melly."

I accepted her grip. "A pleasure to meet you."

She folded her arms over her breasts. "I just got in this morning, but when I heard you bested Eyvind I knew I just had to meet you."

I blushed. "He put up a good fight."

"You're too modest." Gwenna said. She glanced over my shoulder at the target. "We came to keep you company."

"Don't you have classes?" I asked.

"Since we're squires, they're not really mandatory anymore." She smiled. "We tried to sneak Sora away but his teacher wouldn't allow it."

Eyvind took a step forward, looking at the bow in my hand. "Have you been at this all morning?"

I shook my head. "No, just for half an hour or so. Before that I just looked around a little and looked in on my pony in the stables."

"You have a pony?" Heath asked, surprised.

I didn't hold it against him; they thought I was a commoner and most commoners didn't own their own horse. "Yes, his name's Jordi. I'm starting to outgrow him, though. Donovan says I'll need a horse in another year or so."

That sparked Gwenna's interest. She began asking questions about Jordi and my general knowledge of horses, her blue eyes lighting up when she discovered that I knew a good bit about them.

"My father breeds chargers back home at Northwatch, the kind used by knights in full plate armor." She told me, then asked to see Jordi.

I followed my new friends to the stables and introduced them to my moody gelding. Tall for a pony, he was a mix between the sturdy mountain ponies used by the Queen's Riders and the long distance runners kept by Royal scouts. He was a bay with a wide strip of white covering most of his face and black socks on all four ankles. Papa had given him to me when I was eight.

"He's lazy as a mule sometimes," I said.

His ears perked up he snorted at me. _Don't compare me to one of those pack animals._

I laughed, confusing my friends. Shaking my head to ward off questions, I told him their names and he promptly stuck his head over the stall to sniff out possible treats. Like a bloodhound on a trail he went straight to Rispah, who grinned and pulled an apple from her pants pocket.

"Found me out, did you?" She joked as she fed it to him.

_I like this one,_ he told me.

_You'd like anything that gave you food,_ I teased.

After that they took turns introducing me to their own horses, even though I'd already met them earlier that morning. Eyvind's horse, Hannah, was a beautiful black mare with a cool disposition and the same intense stare as her master. The only bit of color on her was a small white star at the tip of her nose and a single white sock.

He smiled softly when I asked about her name. "I had a younger sister," he said. "Her name was Hannah and she died of fever a year before my father gave me her."

I felt a pang of guilt at bringing up such a painful subject. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

He shook his head. "It's all right, I don't mind."

Next was Gwenna's horse, a chocolate brown gelding with a black mane and white at the tip of his tail. He was an absolute sweet heart, nosing me gently and blowing into my hand. I had to laugh when she told me his name was Blade. Such a mild, peaceful animal didn't deserve such a fierce name.

"I think when my father named him he was hoping he'd grow up into a fearsome warhorse." She admitted. "But it was easy to see that would never be, even when he was a colt. All he likes to do is nap and lay in the sun."

Heath was leading me to his horse's stall when the great bells rang, dismissing the pages from class and calling them to their midday meal. I walked back with them to the mess hall. Sora was waiting for us at the door.

"What'd I miss?" He asked as we got in line.

"We discovered that Melly here is a crack shot with her bow," Heath told him.

I shrugged when Sora turned his questioning gaze to me. "I'm told it runs in the family."

Eyvind waited until we were all seated before he asked his question. "You remember your family? I thought Shang warriors chose their students when they're still very young."

"They do," I said. "Donovan found me when I was four. But my family lives in Port Legann, so I get to see them now and then."

It was pretty much an outright lie, and it felt horrible to say it, but if I told them that Donovan had chosen to live with my family, it would have led to questions about their identity. I liked the simplicity of just being Melly, not Melisande of Conté. If they knew I had royal blood in me, I was certain they would begin to treat me differently.

They accepted my answer, and I diverted the focus away from myself by asking about their own homes. Sorata's father was the Royal Physician, so he'd grown up in the Palace. He was Gifted with healing magic, but he'd decided he wanted to be a knight instead of a mage.

"Alanna the Lioness was a great healer," he told me. "But she was an even better knight. I want to be like that."

Gwenna had spent her entire life at Northwatch where she helped her father breed horses. She'd had to fight tooth and nail to convince her parents to let her become a page; they'd wanted to send her to the convent in the City of the Gods. Her older brother was already knighted, and her younger sister had gone to the convent in her stead.

Heath, like Gwenna and me, had grown up in a remote setting. Kennan was a small but prosperous fief near the southern coast. Having spent most of his life tending livestock and learning to tend fields, he hadn't even known how to read when he'd first arrived. Since then he'd become a notorious bookworm.

Rispah was perhaps the strangest of us all. Outgoing and bright, she had a coarse charm that I'd never seen in a noble before. She was an only child and heir, set on making a name for herself as a knight. Her hero was, unsurprisingly, Alanna the Lioness, who was originally of Trebond. She had plans to ride off to the far reaches of the world on a great adventure, like the one the Lioness had gone on to recover the Dominion Jewel for King Jonathan IV.

But it was Eyvind's story that interested me the most. Although I hadn't thought of it at first, I'd realized earlier that Tirragen was one of the noble houses that had risen up in an attempt to usurp Jonathan from the throne and place his cousin Roger in his place.

"I'm the first of my family that has dared to show their face in Corus or the Palace since the shame of Alexander." He said quietly. I saw his hands clench into tight fists in his lap. "I want to reclaim our honor, so my family can once again walk with their heads held high and my sisters will have decent prospects for marriage."

He looked at me and smiled, bitterness in his black eyes. "They have men watching me, wherever I go, and they watch my family at home. The king allowed me to become a page but I know he's worried that I'll try to pick up where my cousin left off. If I make one step in the wrong direction I'll be banished back to Tirragen."

I felt sympathy for him well up in my heart, but at the same time shock filled me. Grandfather was a kind, wonderful man. I knew he would never be so cold hearted as to deny a young man his chance at redemption. I had to bite my lip to keep from leaping to his defense.

But at the same time I saw the truth in Eyvind's eyes. He was not lying or telling me this just so I would pity him. It was the bare truth, a cold reality that he accepted because there was nothing he could do to change it.

Except to prove them all wrong.

"I'm sorry," was all I could say.

He smiled again, and this time there was no bitterness, only sincerity. "Don't worry yourself over it, little Shang. I came to terms with it years ago. As long as I have my friends and I obey the laws of chivalry I know I can reach my goal."

Lady Valorie stood and dismissed us to the training yards. Our conversation was abruptly halted when Rispah and Heath began to speculate about what Donovan would show them today. When they turned to me for answers, I made myself smile and did my best to tell them the most likely things he had in store for them.

But for the rest of the day I thought about Eyvind and the fact that Grandfather actually had men spying on him and his family. It had been almost a century since Alexander of Tirragen had turned against the throne, and he was still worried about his family seeking vengeance. What would he say now if he saw me talking and laughing with the young man he saw as a threat?

Eyvind's situation lifted a curtain of naïveté from me. Despite my best efforts to not think about it, I realized that to everyone my grandfather was not a wonderful, loving man. To everyone else he was the king, cool and calculating. Despite his compassion towards his people, he still used them like chess pieces to achieve what he saw as for the good of Tortall. The fact that Eyvind was an honest, hardworking young man who only sought to reclaim honor for his family meant nothing to him. Grandfather only saw the traitor's blood running in his veins, and that was all that mattered.

When that realization hit me, I wanted to cry.

* * *

I think this is a record update for me, so celebrate! There might not be another for a few weeks because I'm going to be very busy. I'm in the middle of making a kimono for Otakon, and it's eating away at my time and money. But I'm still putting aside a little time every day to sit down and write, or at least brainstorm on what's to come. I have a good idea of what I'm going to write next, so hopefully it won't be too long.

I can't thank you enough to the reviews. I'll do my best to live up to your expectations. I do have plans for the older bloodlines like Alanna's family, but they come in later. Working with the less developed families made it easier for me to make original characters.

I realize it would be very easy to turn Melly into a Mary Sue, but I swear I'll be dead and cold in the ground before I let that happen. When I started thinking about this I didn't so much have a character in mind, but a combination of bloodlines. And when I put them all together I realized all of the things she'd get from each of them. I want to make her extremely talented, but at the same time extremely flawed, and thus perfectly human.

Thank you all very much! Until next time, take care.


	10. My Jaded Savior

The next morning Gwenna and Eyvind received permission from Lady Valorie and Donovan to take me into the city. The streets didn't grow crowded until the afternoon, according to Rispah, which was fine by me. Without the presence of the masses of people I was free to explore the city with my friends in relative peace.

It became the norm for our mornings. Each day we saw a new part of the city and every afternoon Donovan introduced a new technique to enhance their skills. I acted out what he wanted to teach them so he remained free to explain just what they were to do and moved from one to another, helping them get it right.

But on the fourth day Rispah was called away by her knight master, Sir Anthony of Meron, and Lady Valorie made Gwenna and Heath stay behind for a lecture on battle strategies. Eyvind and I ventured out alone into one of the richer market squares, where he showed me one of the Raven Armory's shops.

"Don't Shang generally prefer to fight bare-handed?" He asked me, grinning as I mooned over a magnificent broad sword on the wall.

"Yes," I admitted, forcing myself to tear my gaze away from the sword. "But that doesn't mean we don't appreciate good blades."

In truth I was learning to use more weapons than most Shang students. What Donovan couldn't show me I learned from my father or the twins. I was a noble and part of the extended royal family, and that was something I couldn't escape. One day I hoped to earn a command in a branch of the military, be it the Own, the Riders, or the regular army. I did want to set off on my own and wander as all Shang do, but I also wanted to serve my family and my country. And to do it right I would have to be like all nobles and use blades instead of fists and feet.

"Donovan's sword was made here," I told him.

"Really?" His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "How did he manage to afford it?"

"I think he sold his mother in to slavery or something like that," I said, doing my best to keep my expression straight.

"I would think you'd need more than that to buy a sword from here." He played along as we left the shop and continued down the street. "She must have been some mother. I could sell my entire family and only hope to afford a dagger."

We both burst into laughter. The more time I spent with Eyvind the more I liked him, despite his unnerving stare. As Sorata had said, I was slowly getting accustomed to it, but I could still only meet his gaze for a short time before having to look away.

Soon after leaving the Raven shop we came upon a cart selling small pouches of apple and pear slices covered with crystallized sugar. Cook often made similar treats at home, and they were one of the few exceptions to my dislike for Tortallan food. But I had left the Palace without asking Donovan for any money.

I turned away and tried to focus on something else. Seeing the look of longing in my eyes, Eyvind quietly made his way over to the cart and purchased two pouches for a few coppers and then tapped me lightly on the shoulder.

I felt my cheeks redden as I accepted the sweets. I must have seemed like just another poor commoner to him. "I'll pay you back."

He guided me to sit on the rim of the fountain in the middle of the square. "Don't worry about it, really. It's my treat."

I could have pushed it and insisted on returning the money, but instead I gave in and just smiled. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure."

I pulled up my legs to sit cross legged, setting the little pouch in my lap. After a few moments of comfortable silence I asked. "What's Tirragen like?"

"It's in the west, in the mountains near the City of the Gods." His voice was quiet, and I suddenly realized it might be a painful subject to talk about for him. But before I could take back my question he continued. "My family lives in a keep overlooking Lake Tirragen in a valley at the center of our lands."

"It's a beautiful place, but I like it best in the spring," he said, smiling as he spoke of his home and toying with a piece of sugar-coated apple. "The hills are covered with wild flowers and the trees on the slopes around it are just turning green. My sisters go out into the hills and come home with an endless parade of bouquets and wreaths. When the weather's good you can climb the slopes and see the City of the Gods just north of us."

"What are your sisters like?" I asked.

"Igraine is six and Viviane is eight. They're so full of energy it's a wonder they haven't driven Patricia mad." He chuckled, popping the apple into his mouth.

"Patricia?" Was she his mother, or just their nursemaid. I didn't think he'd be so disrespectful as to call his mother by her first name.

"My step-mother," he said. When I was still obviously confused he explained. "Remember when I said my sister Hannah died of fever? That fever also claimed my mother."

I frowned. Once again I had managed to go straight to the most painful subject. "I'm sorry."

He gave me the slightest of smiles. "It's alright, it's been long enough that I can talk about it without crying myself stupid."

I was impressed that he admitted to crying over his mother; most men I knew denied they even had the ability to shed tears. He took a deep breath and continued. "That left me as an only child. Father remarried a year and a half later. Patricia was so young and scared that I couldn't hate her even though I wanted to. She's been nothing but kind to me, and now I just see her as another sister."

We finished our treats and washed our sticky hands in the fountain. It was nearing midday, so Eyvind and I began walking back to the Palace. As we walked he asked, "Do you know what you plan to do once you become a full fledged Shang?"

"I have a few ideas," I said, glad that I could tell him something about me without lying. "I want to travel, like all Shang, but I also want to be more than just a lone mercenary. After I'm older and more worldly I think I'll come back and find a position somewhere in the Riders or regular army."

"What do you think they'll name you?"

That was a question I often pondered myself. "I'm not sure. I think Donovan is the one who gets to pick my name, because he's my teacher. Each Shang is named after an animal he or she shares qualities with; like speed, strength, or cunning."

"Do you know how long it'll be until you're fully initiated?" He asked.

I shook my head. "There is no set age. It is left to the student's mentor to decide when they are ready to be tested. Some aren't initiated until they're in their mid-twenties, and others can be initiated as early as sixteen. But Donovan told me that the average age is nineteen."

He nodded. "That's a good system. I think the knighthood could learn something from the Shang Order. Many of those who go in to the Chamber of the Ordeal are still not fully prepared; for some eight years just isn't enough."

"Do you think you'll be ready?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, sighing slightly. "I honestly don't know. Sir Padriac tells me that no one can ever be truly prepared for the Ordeal, but he's not allowed to tell me why. But for the sake of my family, I hope the gods will grant me the strength to survive it."

"What will you do after your knighted?" I asked and kicked a stone, sending it skittering along the cobblestones and scattering pigeons.

"I want to regain my family's honor," he said softly. "And to do that I need to make a name for myself, and distinguish myself from other knights. I was considering joining the King's Own. Their commander, Prince Raenef, is said to be much more open-minded and forgiving than his father. Perhaps he would allow me a chance to prove myself."

When he said my father's name I almost tripped and fell flat on my face. I fought to keep my voice casual and calm as I asked, "What makes you think he is?"

He shrugged. "He made his way through the ranks of the Own on his own merit, not through the help of his family name. He married a woman who was older than him and a commoner. I haven't had the chance to meet him yet because he rarely visits the Palace, but I know he comes every Midwinter. And since I'll still be here with Sir Padriac, I hope to meet him."

All I could do was nod silently. He didn't see the color drain from my face and continued on. "I recently learned that he has only one child, a daughter, who is rarely seen at Court. I don't know about you, but I don't know many nobles who would be satisfied with only a single girl-child as their heir. Many noble men would divorce their wives and find a younger girl who would be better able to bear sons."

"He married for love," I said without realizing I was speaking. "What more could he want?"

He regarded me with a thoughtful expression. "So you are a girl after all."

"What?"

He chuckled. "It seemed like you thought only of weapons and training when you first came here. But you sounded like a girl when you said that."

I blushed. "You don't have to be a girl to believe in love."

"True enough," he admitted.

"Do you believe in it?" I asked.

"I'd like to," he said softly. "But life has given me little reason to."

I couldn't think of a reply to that. As much as I liked Eyvind, I still didn't know much about him. What could have jaded him so?

* * *

When we returned to the Palace there was still a little time before the midday meal. Gwenna and Heath were waiting for us at the gates.

"Took you long enough," Gwenna said, ruffling my hair. "Sir Padriac's been looking for you, Eyvind."

"Did he say what he wanted?" Eyvind asked.

"Well, actually he summoned all of us. He offered to practice tilting with us." Heath grinned at me. "I don't suppose the Shang have room for jousting, eh?"

I smiled. "Not really, we leave that to the knights. Besides, I can't even hold a lance, let alone bash it into someone's head."

Heath pretended to take offense to that. "Now really, Melly, there's a lot more to jousting than "bashing people in the head". It's an art, really, it takes precision and strength."

"But the goal is to smash your lance into the head of your opponent, or at least break it on his shield." Gwenna said.

"Whose side are you on?" Heath demanded sourly.

"I'm a neutral party."

Heath grumbled and we all laughed, making our way to the mess hall. After lunch I asked Donovan if I could be excused from the day's lesson to go watch my friends practice tilting.

"Of course you can," he said with a smile. "It'll be good exposure for you."

I hugged him tightly. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome." He hugged me back, then kissed me on the forehead like any uncle would do. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

I grinned at him and kissed his cheek before running off to join my friends, my heart full of warmth. I suddenly wished that we were staying for more than just a week, even though I missed my family terribly. It was odd to wake up without Miwako singing as she got dressed, and going all day without hearing Adish crack a stupid joke. But I would see them soon, even if it meant leaving my friends. Besides, I'd be back at Midwinter. The only problem was that I wasn't sure if I'd still have friends here once they learned I'd been lying to them.

"So you're Melly, the little Shang." Sir Padriac said, his voice warm and friendly. "Eyvind's told me a lot about you."

I shook his hand and smiled. "It's nice to meet your, sir."

Sir Padriac was a very big man, tall and barrel-chested with arms like a blacksmith. He was middle-aged with only a few silver hairs standing out against his closely cropped black hair. He was tan from years of working outdoors, and lines appeared at the corners of his eyes and mouth when he smiled. Next to him even Eyvind seemed small, and he was the tallest one of us.

"Eyvind, my boy, you're first." Padriac said, slapping him on the back. "Let's see if you've remembered anything I taught you."

I sat on the fence with Gwenna and Heath, watching them don thickly padded shirts and helmets. Heath went to hold their lances as they mounted their horses and secured their shields to their arms, then returned to us and watched them move to opposite ends of the lane.

I had only seen someone tilt once before, when my father and Uncle Connor had held a friendly match a few years ago at Midwinter. Papa had bested his brother, but to be fair he had many more opportunities to practice the arts of war than his two brothers. I didn't remember much, only that it had been very sudden and very loud.

Gwenna put two fingers to her mouth and gave a sharp whistle, and Eyvind and his knight master kicked their steeds into full charges. As we watched they thundered down the lane, rising up in their saddles and leaning forward. I marveled at the fact that they could hold such long, heavy things relatively straight, despite the jolting of their horses' movement.

When they hit it seemed like a small explosion, their shields clanging under the impact and splinters from the broken lances flying everywhere in a loud crack. Eyvind fell back in his saddle, rather dazed from the looks of it, but Sir Padriac sat back down and calmly reigned in his warhorse to a sedate trot. Hannah was very well trained, and after a moment she slowed down on her own, coming to a stop carefully to be sure Eyvind wouldn't fall off.

I was shocked and terrified that he was hurt, but Gwenna and Heath were amazingly calm as they jumped off the fence and fetched new lances for the knight and his squire. I considered running over to Eyvind to see if he was hurt, but he was already slowly pulling himself upright in the saddle, his shoulders heaving with heavy breaths.

"Is it always like this?" I asked them as they jumped back up on the fence.

"Pretty much. Eyvind doesn't really stand much of a chance against Sir Padriac because he's a good deal lighter and doesn't have any experience." Gwenna chuckled. "But he manages to keep himself in the saddle most of the time, which is more than most squires could say."

When they were in position she whistled and it all began again. This time the impact made me cringe, and the splinters landed only a few feet away from our fence. It seemed like Eyvind faired a little better this time, recovering quicker than he had and not breathing quite as hard.

"You're stubborn, boy!" Padriac shouted down the lane. "Just let me dump you in the dirt like a good squire and this'll all be over!"

To my shock Eyvind replied with a very obscene gesture, but Padriac only laughed and accepted the lance Heath offered him. They came about for another run.

It was exactly like the first two runs, and I managed not to flinch at the great crashing noise. But then I realized Eyvind wasn't in his saddle anymore. He sailed through the air and landed squarely on his back ten feet away from his horse with an alarming thud.

Gwenna and Heath immediately leapt off the fence and ran over to him with me right behind them. She tapped his cheek lightly. "Eyvind, you alright?"

After a moment he wheezed a reply. "Splendid."

They helped him over to a bench near the supply shed as I ran to fetch some water. When I got back, Heath was already wearing a padded shirt and was searching for a helmet that fit. I was amazed at how calmly they were handling this. To me it had been utterly terrifying.

I sat down on the bench next to Eyvind as Gwenna helped Sir Padriac and Heath with their lances. He took of his helmet with a quick jerk, leaving his hair in wild disarray, and sighed.

"Thank you," he said when I offered him the water, still sounding rather winded.

"Is it always this bad?" I asked.

"This isn't bad, it's normal." He smiled, and then took a long drink of water. "It's not as painful as it looks."

Gwenna whistled and I turned just in time to see Heath get slammed out of his saddle, flying even farther than Eyvind had. I looked back at him and raised my brows skeptically.

"Alright, that part does hurt. But it's just bruises, nothing is broken." He lifted up his shirt so I could see the large, ugly bruise that was already appearing on his side.

"I thought jousting was mostly for the big knights like Sir Padriac." I said. "They're so heavy you can't knock them out of the saddle, right?"

He shook his head. "It's more balance, and the way you angle your lance, and how you stand in the saddle. Heath's heavier than me and look at him." He grinned. "Weight does help, though. But I'm still growing, so it won't be this difficult forever."

We watched as Heath was thrown out of the saddle again. But on his third run he managed to stay in his seat. When he dismounted we broke into applause and he gave us a mocking bow.

I was surprised to see Gwenna donning the padded shirt and helm. When she saw me staring she grinned. "I have to try, don't I?"

Despite being much lighter than either of the boys, Gwenna did fairly well. On her last run she took the hit so hard she slumped to one side and nearly lost her seat, but before she fell she managed to get a grip on her saddle and hang on. Out of the three watching, I was the only one without injuries, so I ran out to help her down.

"Are you sure you're alright?" I asked, pulling her arm over my shoulder to support her weight.

"I've been worse off," she said, voice rasping as she fought to catch her breath. "I'm just a little winded."

I helped her back to the bench where she sat next to the boys. Eyvind was looking much better than the others, but he'd had the longest time to recover. It was almost laughable. It hadn't been very long since they'd started, and already all three of them looked like they'd just come off a battlefield.

"It seems like an awfully painful way to train." I told them.

"Practice makes perfect," Sir Padriac said from behind me. He was covered in sweat, but otherwise seemingly uninjured and very energetic. "As you go you learn to deflect the blows better, and once these youngsters get some meat on their bones and some real armor it won't hurt quite as much."

"He acts tough," Eyvind said with a wry grin. "But the minute he's back in his room he'll be crying to his wife."

"Be quiet," Padriac cuffed him lightly, making his already messy hair worse. "Insolent ruffian."

I smiled as I watched them. Even though Eyvind had only recently become his squire, I could tell there was already a strong bond there. Suddenly I was very happy for my friend. With a good man like Padriac to guide him, Eyvind would become a fine knight and one day reach his goal of restoring Tirragen's honor.

* * *

We all retired to the baths after that. After Padriac and the boys disappeared into the men's I told Gwenna to go on without me.

"I'll get us both some clean clothes." I said.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not completely incapacitated, you know. I can walk just fine."

"The longer you soak in that water, the better." I gave her a gentle push through the door. "Just go."

It was easy enough to find Gwenna's room on the second floor of the page's wing. The boys lived on the first floor while the girls had rooms on the second, and their names were written on wooden plaques that hung next to the doors. I pulled a clean shirt and pants from her wardrobe, but paused when I saw breast bands folded on a shelf at the top. Did she wear them? Gwenna, even though she was two years my senior, was built much like me, tall and thin, and I know I certainly didn't need one. But then again, she was older than me, and maybe the reason I couldn't see anything different was because she actually wore one. So just to be safe I grabbed one from the top of the pile and started off for my room.

The distance between the page's wing and the rooms we'd been given wasn't anything mentionable, but it did require a lot of stair climbing and I got lost briefly on my way. By the time I got to my room I knew Gwenna was probably done washing and now just soaking in the hot water to soothe her aching muscles. I quickly gathered a clean set of clothing and hurried back down the hall.

I froze in my tracks at the end of the hall when I heard something I couldn't identify. It was so faint and brief that for a moment I thought I'd been imagining things. But then it came again, louder and stronger and I turned to look down the hall. A woman's voice, full of fear and too muffled for me to make out the words.

I'd thought myself alone in the wing. After all, aside from Donovan and I, this wing was entirely servant quarters. And they only returned when their duties were done and their masters had retired for the night. I quickly backtracked down the hallway, moving as quietly as I could until I found the room where the noise had come from.

The door was slightly ajar, allowing me to see a thin sliver of the room within. I moved closer and peered through, then stood frozen in shock at what I saw.

The woman was on the floor on her back, struggling wildly with a man who was facing away from me. Her face was streaked with tears, and when I saw the hand clasped over her mouth I realized there was another man in there as well. The first man struggled to get a grip on her legs and then forced them apart.

"Hold 'er tight," he whispered harsly. "Don't want no one t'hear 'er wailin'."

The second man's laugh was so cruel and icy it made me shiver. "Who's there t'hear it? Now hurry up and git on with it."

Even though I was young and somewhat sheltered, I knew what they intended for the woman. Miwako and my mother had told me that there were men in the world who would use a woman to satisfy themselves, unconcerned whether she was hurt in the process. Rage flooded my veins like fire as the man pushed the woman's skirt up to her waist and then fumbled with his belt.

The woman- a girl really, for she seemed only a few years my senior- continued to struggle against her captors, trying to bite the second man's hand and kicking her legs in a vain attempt to free herself from their grip. The first man backhanded her, but she didn't stop, even though she knew it was a losing battle.

The rational voice in my head told me to run for help, or at least run back to my room and grab my staff or dagger. But by then it would be too late and the damage would be done. Looking to the right, just inside the door, I discovered a tin wash bin on a nightstand. It would have to do.

I dropped the clothes on the floor and darted inside, snatching up the empty bin and rushing across the room. The second man looked up and saw me, but he didn't have the time to warn his companion. I raised the bin over my head, then brought it down with every bit of strength I could muster, bashing it into the back of the first man's head. The impact sent jarring vibrations up my arms and I almost dropped it, but I had accomplished my goal. The man slumped forward, landing partially on the girl in front of him who desperately kicked at him to shove him away. The second man released her and rose to his feet.

"Run," I told the girl as she scrambled to her feet. She looked at me, her eyes wild with fear, and fled without question. She was safe. Now all I had to do was save my own hide.

"You festerin' sack o'maggots." He snarled at me, advancing slowly as I backed towards the door. "I'm gonna break every bone in yer rotten body."

Suddenly I regretted my hasty decision. The girl had a lot of fight in her, I'd seen that. Together we could have bested the scoundrel. But I realized that alone I didn't have much of a chance, Shang training or no. He was easily more than twice my size, and I knew that if he got a hold on me I was done for.

He dove at me, swearing when I leapt to the side and cracked the tin across the back of his hand. I tried to hit him across the head with it before he could recover, but he was faster than I thought, and knocked my hand away, sending the pail crashing into the wall. I had lost my only advantage.

His companion groaned behind him and struggled to get up. When he turned to look at the fallen man I saw my chance and darted for the door, realizing too late that he'd done that on purpose. His big hand grabbed my upper arm hard, and he flung me against the wall so easily I might as well have been a rag doll.

My back hit the stone first, then my head. I cried out and dropped to the floor, my vision a fantastic world of flashing lights. I tried to get up, but was so unbalanced that I didn't know which way was up and ended up falling over again.

From far away I heard that cruel laugh again. "Did ye hear that? This un's a girl too. Guess we'll have our fun after all."

Icy fingers of dread wrapped themselves around my heart as I realized that now they were going to do to me what they would've done to that girl. It didn't matter to them that I was just a child. As the two large figures loomed over me I suddenly felt small and helpless, terror threatening to overwhelm me completely.

Hands grabbed at my arms and legs, pulling me away from the wall. I struck out with my hands and feet blindly, fighting a losing battle against their far superior strength. But it wasn't completely in vain. I was rewarded with a cry of pain as my foot caught one man in the groin, but then my world exploded as a massive hand struck me across my face.

I lay on the floor, too dazed and disoriented to fight them when they grabbed me again. The right side of my face was on fire and I could taste blood. But my stupor didn't last long. I felt a hand tugging at my belt and jerked back into awareness once more.

Eight years of training were suddenly forgotten as I struggled against them. I kicked, I clawed, I even bit the hand meant to cover my mouth. With every ounce of my being I fought them. They hit me again, and again, but I kept on, refusing to accept defeat until I was dead and cold on the floor.

The next blow hit so hard my head was whipped back against the stone floor, and suddenly the world was white, then black. I could hear them, and felt my own limbs still fight, but it was all far, far away.

_Is this what comes of helping those in need?_ I thought in an odd moment of bitter clarity. _Is this my reward for choosing the path of Shang?_

I felt blood trickling down my temple and my vision began to return, but it was blurred and full of flashing lights. Two large blurs loomed over me like mountains, full of menace and terror. They seemed to move with painful slowness, shifting between the flashes of bright light. My entire body went cold when one of them finally got a grip on the waist of my pants and began to pull.

And then, after another flash, there was a third dark smudge behind the first two, and suddenly I was released from the hard grip. From far away I heard angry curses, then shouts of agony, and then silence.

My world pulsed with pain and light. Slowly I began to reorient myself, feeling the hard floor beneath me and pushing myself back until I found the wall. Using that as my guide I struggled to my feet.

Two hands reached out and grasped my arms, and I immediately lashed out. But this grip was gentle and kind, supporting me as I stood on fear-weakened legs. As I looked up at the blob above me, my eyes began to focus, and I found that my rescuer was no other than Eyvind of Tirragen.

* * *

Hi guys :-)

First off I want to thank you all for your wonderful reviews. They mean a lot to me and they're great encouragement to keep me going when I'm about to give in to writer's block. I hope I'll live up to your praise and keep the story interesting.

Like I mentioned before, I went to Otakon 2004 in Baltimore, and I had a blast. Spent way too much money v.v Then I went on vacation to Ocean City with my family, and had even more fun there. My notebook goes with me everywhere, so I always find time to write, even though I'm far away from my beloved computer. I've actually started working on a few chapters that won't be up until 14 or so, because they're fresh in my mind and I know exactly what I want to do with them. Hopefully that means I'm making good progress and can update more often

But I'm starting college next week, so the first few weeks of that might be hectic. Luckily I only have four classes, so it's a pretty relaxed schedule, and I don't know if I'm gonna be working. I have an hour and forty five minutes of math... :-/ I'm gonna die.

Anywho, I actually have the next chapter finished, so it'll be up in the next day or too. All I have to do is tweak it.

Until next time, take care ;-)


	11. This Could Change Everything

I was shocked when I saw Melly's face, and then furious. Blood ran from her mouth and nose, and a wound on her temple bled sluggishly. She'd been hit so many times all of the bruises had merged into one swollen mass. It was so bad around her left eye that she couldn't even open it.

"Melly," I asked slowly. "Are you alright? Can you walk?"

Her open eye remained unfocused for a moment, but she recognized my voice. I saw her slowly focus on my face, and suddenly she burst into tears and threw her arms around my waist.

"I was scared," she sobbed. "I was so scared."

I winced when she tightened her grip on me, her arms pressing against the bruises I'd acquired tilting. But I said nothing of it and ignored the pain, putting my arms around her thin shoulders and hugging her as gently as I could.

"You're safe now," I told her.

She continued to cry into my shirt, her tears quickly soaking through the fabric. I stroked and hand over her hair and tried to soothe her as best I could, but stopped when I felt a large lump underneath her matted hair. My anger quickly returned as I realized just how badly she was hurt.

The bastards who had done this to her lay in a heap across the floor. I'd done my best to surprise them, knocking one out cold with a quick blow to the back of his head with the hilt of my dagger. But the other had pulled a knife from his boot and tackled me. Now he lay in a pool of his own blood, my dagger buried to the hilt in his chest. Vaguely I realized that he was the first man I'd ever killed, but Melly was much more important at the moment.

All was silent but for her soft sobbing. After a moment I spoke, feeling an unusual urge to explain myself. "Gwenna told me you went to get clothes, but when you didn't come back she thought you got lost. Since I was already finished I came to look for you."

I stopped talking when I felt her hands bunch into fists, fingers curling tightly in my shirt. Leaning down I rested my cheek against her hair and hugged her a little tighter, and her sobs began to quiet. I could only imagine what horrific things were running through her mind.

The girl she had rescued had nearly crashed in to me on the stairs, crying and talking so fast it was hard to understand what she'd been saying. But it had been easy to guess from the bruises on her face and the tears on her clothing what had upset her so. I'd sprinted up the stairs and down the hallway, following the angry voices of the men. Melly had fought them like a wild cat, clawing and biting and hitting anything and everything she could. In a way it made me proud, to know she fought so hard even though her chances of winning were slim to none, but then the bigger man had struck her, and anger had clouded my thoughts. Now he lay on the floor with my blade in his chest.

And knowing that I'd killed the bastard made me feel good.

It was a frightening thought, but I didn't have time to contemplate it. Suddenly more men were at the door, armed and shouting. As they shoved me away from my friend I recognized one of the men assigned to watch me. They took one look at the room, saw the blood on my hands and Melly's injuries and leapt to what was the obvious conclusion.

"Get down, you miserable cur," he snarled at me. Grabbing my shoulder, he slammed his boot into the back of my knees and pushed me face first into the floor. "I've been waitin' for you to slip up."

"I didn't do anything," I growled, even though I know what the reaction would be.

"Shut yer hole," he snapped, putting his boot down on my head and pressing me hard to the floor. I felt my hands pulled behind my back and bound by some sort of cloth. Then, with one hand in my hair and the other on my shoulder, he yanked me up to my knees and then my feet and started to steer me towards the door.

One of the two guards with him was checking the two fallen men, and the other was trying to talk to Melly, asking her questions but getting no response. She was still crying, her eyes dazed and confused. The guard gently took her arm and guided her to the bed, trying to talk her into sitting down. But then she looked up and saw me, and suddenly her eyes were sharp and clear again.

"Stop!" she cried. "Leave him alone!"

The guard held her back when she would've run to me, but she grabbed his hand and bit him and he let go with a curse. She rushed over and grabbed my captor by the arm, pulling hard and trying to break his grip on me.

"Let him go!"

He pushed her away with one hand and sent her staggering back. "Be quiet, girl. He's goin' back to where he belongs."

"Stop it!" she cried again, but he ignored her and shoved me out the door. I heard her growl in frustration, then she drew a deep breath and shouted:

"The granddaughter of Roald II of Conté commands you to stop!"

We both froze when we heard the king's name, and the man holding me slowly turned and looked at her.

"You must be addled in the head to think I'd be stupid enough to believe that," he scoffed.

"If I were lying I'd think of something a bit more believable than that." She braced her feet and glowered at him, the ugly wounds on her face making the expression twice as powerful. "My name is Melisande of Conté and as a member of the royal family I command you to let him go!"

He stared at her in open disbelief, but I could see doubt clouding his eyes. Like me, he looked at her black hair, her pale skin, and the remarkable blue eyes possessed by most of the Royal family. It wasn't much in the way of solid proof, but when I looked her in the eye I knew she wasn't lying.

He slowly let me go, but before he could undo my hands Melly was there doing it herself. When I turned to look at her she refused to meet my gaze and there was a sudden heaviness on my chest. This could change everything.

* * *

The man, who's name was Nolan Danriksson, may have accepted Melly's claim of royalty, but he wasn't about to let us go. He and one of the guards escorted us through the Palace to an upper chamber I had never seen before. Bookshelves of fine red wood lined the walls and a large ebony desk dominated the far side. Behind the desk was a chair of the same wood with dark blue seat cushions, and the wall behind it consisted of large windows of very fine-quality glass.

We were told to sit in two of the chairs facing the desk. Nolan left us there without a word, and suddenly we were alone in a very loud silence.

She was the first to speak, her voice soft. Her head hung forward so her hair blocked my view of her face. "I'm sorry I lied to you."

I took a deep breath. "Why did you do it?"

The answer was obvious, but I wanted to hear in her own words. She was slow to reply, her bruised and bloody hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. When she finally did speak her words came in a great rush, as if she were afraid to stop lest she lose her courage.

"I was afraid you'd treat me differently if you knew I was royal. I've never had friends like this before and I didn't want your first impression of me to be that of a pampered noble." She paused and took a breath. "I just wanted to be Melly."

A door opened behind us and our conversation was cut short. Melly turned to look at the newcomers, but I had already guessed their identities... or at least one of them.

"Grandfather!" Melly cried, her bloody face lighting up with joy. She leapt from her chair and raced across the room. I turned just in time to see King Roald lean down and sweep her up into a tight embrace, lifting her high off the floor and spinning her around, just as I had seen my father do countless times with my sisters.

King Roald was tall and broad shouldered, despite his age. His short hair was entirely silver, but his beard still held bits of black. The lines on his face creased into a smile as he held his granddaughter, but the minute he put her down and took a good look at her the smile was gone, replaced by shock and anger.

I wasn't surprised when his angry gaze turned immediately to me. But before he said anything the man behind him put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. I recognized Prince Jonathan right away; he looked exactly like his father. I felt a momentary gratitude towards him for stemming his father's anger, until he shot a suspicious look my way. I sighed.

"Melisande," the king's deep voice was full of concern. "What on earth happened to you?"

She clung to his hand and leaned against him, obviously reluctant to talk about her harrowing experience. Roald picked her up again and moved to sit at his desk with her in his lap, stroking her hair and speaking to softly for me to hear.

Prince Jonathan turned to me. "Tirragen, I gather?"

I nodded. "Yes, my lord."

"How exactly do you fit into this?" He asked, his tone openly accusatory.

Melly spoke before I could answer. "This isn't his fault, Uncle Jon. He saved me. If it weren't for him I'd be much worse off."

"Melisande was being attacked by two men." I said, choosing my words carefully. Her new name felt odd on my tongue. "She couldn't fight them off on her own."

The story slowly unraveled as we took turns speaking. She told them how she'd been here for almost a week with Donovan, training with the pages and squires, and why she'd kept her presence a secret. Then she told them about going to fetch clean clothing and discovering the men assaulting the girl, but her words stopped abruptly after that. She turned away from us and hid her face against her grandfather's shoulder, leaving me to tell the rest.

"I believe they intended to do to her what they couldn't do to the other girl, your majesty. I arrived to late to stop them from striking her, but it went no further." I took a deep breath. "I knocked one of them unconscious, but I had to kill the other."

I only heard what Prince Jonathan muttered because he was standing right next to my chair. "Should've killed them both."

The king was silent for a long time, obviously struggling to control his temper. But at least now he was angry at the bastards who'd tried to rape his granddaughter, and not me for simply being there. He kissed her hair and pulled her closer to him in a tight embrace, then looked at me.

"Then I owe you my thanks, young squire." He said, and meant it. Then he shocked me by continuing. "It was wrong of me to jump to conclusions."

I was dumbstruck, but somehow managed to speak. "Th-thank you, sire."

Prince Jonathan reached out and shook my hand with the slightest of smiles. He left the room, then returned shortly with the queen at his side. A small, elderly woman, Shinkokami's hair was pure white and her skin was lined with age, but her eyes were large and dark, and she was still very beautiful.

"_Obaachan_" Melly broke her silence when the queen arrived, slipping off her grandfather's lap and running to throw her arms around Shinkokami. The old woman was obviously shocked and dismayed at her granddaughter's appearance, but said nothing of it. She put her arms around Melly's shoulders and hugged her tightly. In passing it occurred to me that this was why she spoke fluent Yamani.

"_Meri-chan_" she said softly. "_Okaeri_"

That word, whatever it meant, was enough to make Melly burst into tears again. She clung tightly to her grandmother, sobbing even harder than she had when I first found her.

"_Tadaima_," she said, her voice breaking as tears poured down her face. "_Tadaima_"

* * *

Obaachan - Grandmother (affectionate)

Okaeri - Welcome home

Tadaima - I'm home

* * *

I decided to use Japanese for the Yamani language, just because Tamora herself had already borrowed a few words, like naginata and hoshi, and it was easier that way because I'm actually learning to speak it. I really wanted to use "okaeri" and "tadaima" because in Japanese they are _much_ more meaningful than "welcome home" and "I'm home" are in English. It's hard to explain... I guess it's just a family bonding thing. Oh well.

I'm about... half way through chapter 12, and it's progressing pretty well. I think that'll be the last of this part of Melly's story.

It wasn't just a coincidence that Eyvind's sisters were named Igraine and Viviane, lol. I was reading the Mists of Avalon when I wrote chapter 10, and they were the first names to pop into my head and I liked it enough to stick with it. And I got other names like Eyvind, Somerled and Padriac from Juliet Marillier. She's just about my favorite author nowadays, and her newest books are a good source for Nordic names, which I need for people from the northern parts of Tortall or Scanra and such.

Well, it's late and I need to go bed. Take care, and I'll see you all in chapter 12!


	12. Facing the Consequences

I remember little of events after Grandmother's arrival. Donovan and Sir Padriac were summoned, and when my teacher arrived he effortlessly scooped me up and followed my grandmother to the Palace infirmary. I fell asleep in his arms, soothed by the steady beating of his heart and his reassuring warmth. In sleep I found blissful escape from the sharp, throbbing pain in my jaw and the dull, constant ache in my head.

They woke me up to give me some foul tasting liquid to drink, and Sir Hiroyuki asked me a few questions, but then I was allowed to sleep again, and I didn't wake up until the late evening of the next day.

I found myself in a large, comfortable bed, surrounded by fluffy pillows and soft blankets. A cat I had never met before was sleeping on my legs, purring softly. I smiled slightly and was met with the pleasant discovery that the sharp pains in my jaw were now just a dull soreness, and my headache was almost completely gone.

Looking around I made another pleasant discovery. Gwenna and Sora were sitting on the floor near my bed with a chess board between them, talking softly. I tried to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse croak and I realized that my mouth was paper dry.

But it got their attention. When my friends saw that I was awake they immediately abandoned their chess game and came to sit on the bed with me. Sora helped me sit up against a pile of pillows while Gwenna poured a glass of water then offered it to me.

"I'm glad you're up," Sora said as I gulped down the water. "We were starting to think you'd sleep forever."

I smiled and tried talking again. "How long have you been here?"

"Just an hour or so," Gwenna pulled the cat into her lap and scratched his ears. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," I said and reached up to rub the sleep from my eyes. "But my mouth is still sore."

"Father said your jaw was fractured in three places and you had a slight concussion," Sora informed me. "It'll be sore for awhile."

"Wonderful."

Suddenly Gwenna's smile faded and her voice became very grave. "Melly, I'm sorry. I should've gone with you, then none of this would've ha-"

I cut her off. "It's not your fault. It's my fault for being so reckless. I should've gotten help, or at least fetched a weapon from my room."

Sora smiled. "The girl you rescued hasn't stopped talking about you. She says you were very brave, attacking the men with nothing but a wash bin."

I blushed; it had been incredibly stupid of me. Donovan had taught me better than that. "It was the only thing I could see that was useful... it didn't last very long." I paused as a sudden thought occurred to me. "What of the two men?"

Gwenna shook her head slightly. "One of them was taken away by the Palace Guard. He's to be put on trial next week and there's talk of charging him with treason. After all... he did attack a member of the royal family."

I felt the blood drain from my face. The only penalty for treason was death. I hated the man, but I didn't want him to die. "And the other?" I asked.

Suddenly they were both very quiet, and neither wanted to meet my gaze. But eventually Sora answered me. "Eyvind killed him."

Shock silenced any questions I might have asked after that. We sat in silence for a long time. Eyvind had killed a man, for my sake. From what I knew of him, he'd never killed anyone before, or been in a true battle. I was upset, but I wasn't quite sure why. But I realized that deep within me heart... I was glad he was dead.

I finally broke the silence; there was something I desperately needed to know. "Is Eyvind mad at me?"

"We don't know," Gwenna said. "He's been very quiet, and he won't tell us what he's thinking."

I realized that they knew the truth, and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have lied to you."

Gwenna shook her head. "I can't speak for Sora, but I've already forgiven you. Why else would I be here?" She smiled. "I was more worried about your injuries than I was about what name I'm supposed to call you."

Sora nodded his agreement. "We understand why you did it. It's just a little shocking. No one expected you to turn out to have more blue blood in you than all of us combined."

I scowled. "I'm still Melly. If either one of you starts calling me 'Melisande' or 'my lady' I swear I'll knock a tooth out."

They both laughed, and I hid a smile. If we could joke about it then there truly was no need to worry, at least when it came to them. Eyvind, Heath and Rispah remained a frightening unknown.

There was a soft knock at the door and Donovan came in, followed by my grandmother and a maid carrying a tray laden with cups and a pitcher of juice. My friends scrambled off the bed and bowed quickly, only to have my grandmother wave them off.

"No need for that, my dears," she said softly, touching both of them on the shoulder and smiling. "I brought you some juice and some soup for my granddaughter."

They returned to their seats on the bed as Grandmother directed the maid to set the tray on the nightstand and dismissed her. Donovan pulled a chair closer and took a seat, but Grandmother simply sat on the bed next to me.

"How are you feeling?" She asked.

"Much better," I smiled. "Thank you, _obaachan_."

She helped me sit up completely so I could put the soup in my lap, then handed both of my friends a cup of juice. They were both obviously nervous, to be sitting so casually with the queen, but she didn't pay it any mind.

"You know," Donovan said thoughtfully. "I'm never going to hear the end of this from Adish and Namir."

"They're my bodyguards," I explained to my friends, who'd looked at me in confusion when Donovan spoke.

"We had to convince them to stay in Conté; they were afraid of letting her go anywhere without them." Donovan said, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. "I told them I could protect her on my own."

"None of this is your fault," I told him, but he shook his head.

"Prince Jonathan contacted your parents with his Gift," he said softly. "They'll be here in a week."

I felt my throat tighten suddenly. I knew what he was thinking. He was afraid that Papa wouldn't let him continue to be my teacher, not after what had happened. I wanted to say that it would never happen, but in the back of my mind I feared it too.

After I finished the soup Grandmother had brought for me, Donovan kissed my cheek and then ushered my friends out of the room. Grandmother handed me another cup, but it wasn't juice.

"_Obaachan_," I wrinkled my nose. It smelled like cabbages and something I couldn't identify, but didn't like at all. "This smells awful. Do I have to drink it?"

"Yes," she smiled when I pulled a face. "All of it. It'll help you sleep."

I sighed, but did as I was told. The liquid tasted even worse than it smelled, and I gagged, but managed to force myself to drink all of it. It left a horrible aftertaste in the back of my mouth that refused to go away even after I drank another glass of water.

"Go to sleep, Meri-chan," Grandmother smiled and kissed my brow. "You'll feel much better tomorrow."

And so I did. As my grandmother stroked my hair and sang to me softly I slowly drifted off. My troubled thoughts of Eyvind and my family faded away until only Grandmother's voice remained, and then, sleep.

* * *

The sun crept in through my window and spilled over my face, so bright I could see it even though my eyes were closed. I grumbled and rolled over, trying to hide from the light, but there was no escaping it. I could feel its warmth on my back, and it stayed there, nagging, until I finally gave in and sat up.

Judging by the light outside the window it wasn't noon just yet, but it was close. I sighed and threw back the sheets, then swung my legs off the bed and stood up.

Dizziness hit me like a blast of wind and I fell back on the bed, putting my hands down to keep myself upright. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the flashing lights from my vision. They were fading, but very slowly, so I resigned myself to sit and wait for my sight to clear.

When the lights finally dimmed I stood up again, this time much slower. The dizziness returned, but it was weak and soon faded and I was able to walk.

While I had slept someone had brought my possessions up from my room with Donovan. I scrounged through my pack and found a fresh pair of pants and a light cotton shirt. I cringed as I surveyed the rest of my clothing. A week of constant activity had decimated them. What wasn't covered in dirt and muck was torn and ripped. I would have to find a way to wash them later. Until then I would have to make do with what I was wearing.

My stomach grumbled, demanding food after such a long period of sleep, but I ignored it. I had to find Eyvind. He had killed a man, because of me, and I had deceived him. Somehow, I would make things right between us.

The first person I found was not Eyvind, but Rispah was more than willing to help me. I found her in the stables, cleaning her tack and humming softly to herself. When she saw me, she smiled.

"So you're not dead, after all," she said with a wink. "Care to join me?"

I dragged a stool over to sit next to her, surprised at how tired I was after only a short walk. Rispah handed me a piece of leather and an oiling cloth and I went to work.

Out of all my new friends, I knew the least about her. She was talented and ambitious, but also very open and friendly. In a way she reminded me of Adish; boisterous and jovial, always ready to crack a joke one minute and fight to the death the next. From what Gwenna had told me, she had spent the last year on the Scanran border, fighting the ever constant waves of raiding parties and slave traders. She had seen true battle; I could see it in her eyes, and the way she moved. Despite being only sixteen, Rispah was a true warrior.

I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off. "Don't bother apologizing, Melly, there's no need for it." She straightened up and put down her saddle. "I understand your reasons for lying, and I forgive you."

I bowed my head. "Thank you."

She shrugged. "People place too much value on names, judging the bloodline and the money instead of the living, breathing person. I've watched you, spent time with you, and I know you have a good heart, and you're a damn fine shot with a bow. That's all I need to know."

"That's not a very noble state of mind," I commented.

She chuckled. "I'm not so noble myself. My grandparents were commoners, but King Jonathan made my grandfather the Baron. Alanna the Lioness had her hands full with Pirate's Swoop and Olau, and she trusted them to take good care of her home." Rispah leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she picked at a stray piece of leather. "I wasn't raised in some fancy-do castle surrounded by servants; I grew up working with the villagers in the fields and learning to take care of stock animals. We never placed any value on station. All you needed to earn the respect of others was to work hard and be yourself."

"The world could use a few more like you, Rispah." I said, and meant it.

"Nah," she waved the idea away. "I have a bad habit of putting my boot up someone's arse when they irritate me, and the world certainly doesn't need more of _that_."

We both laughed and I helped her finish her work and put away her things. As we left the stable I found the nerve to ask: "Do you know where Eyvind is?"

She stretched her arms out over her head and heaved a great sigh, then rubbed a hand through her short hair until it stuck out at odd angles. "I'm afraid I don't, although I wish I did so I could tell you. I've known Eyvind since we were still in our swaddling cloths, and when he doesn't want to be found, generally that means you can't find him."

"Is he angry with me?"

"I don't know," she shook her head. "It could be that, or it could be the shock of his first kill. It hits hard, but more for some than others."

I nodded, but said nothing. We parted soon after that when Rispah was summoned by her knight master, and I was left alone to think. Maybe he was good at hiding, but I had friends to help me look.

But first, I had an idea.

* * *

Hey guys,

I know there wasn't much going on this chapter, it was basically just a filler episode. For the next one I'm going back to Eyvind's perspective, and it should be a bit more interesting.

The first week of college went pretty good, not nearly as hectic as I expected it to be. Let's hope it stays that way. knock on wood

That's pretty much it. It's late, so I should go to sleep... but I'm probably gonna go play Halo XD Thank you all very much for the reviews. Silverwolf said I should publish this, and that'd be really awesome, but this is copy-righted material, even though most of the characters are completely mine. Tortall belongs to Tamora Pierce, goddess that she is, and I can't take credit for her creations. But maybe one day I can publish my original fictions. :D

Till next time.

KittenofEvil


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